Ever see that Brady Bunch episode where it seemed that Jan might be allergic to Mr. Brady? They actually considered a divorce! That actually happened. Just amazing television. What’s next, a series about a diminutive black child who lives with rich white people in a mansion?
Anyway, my wife took my son to the allergist yesterday and guess what happened? Not what happened in The Brady Bunch.
The doctor ran my defenseless child through a battery of tests to see what was what; it’s safe to say that my son is definitely allergic to needles and being tortured. I mean, I didn’t go, but from what I understand it was a lot like this:
Seriously. They just stuck the kid with a bunch of needles before eventually destroying an entire planet. My son even has similar hair.
Turns out he has a few allergies of varying severity. Eggs are the worst – he can’t touch ’em, so it looks like we’ll be having a lot of bacon-only breakfasts in our house. How will I survive? He also displayed mild reactions to peanuts and dust mites, which basically means I won’t be able to whine about cleaning the house ever again. Goddammit.
All three of those allergies will change his – and our – lifestyles. Thankfully, the peanut thing doesn’t seem to be so bad that we’ll need to carry around an epipen or monitor chocolate wrappers, but still, caring for the kid has gotten a lot more complicated, and will get even worse once he gets older and more independent. I hope I don’t forget to tell him not to eat eggs. I’ll have to tie a string on my finger.
Food allergies are a big deal these days. When I was a kid, you barely heard about them. Sure, every once in a while you met someone who couldn’t eat peanut butter or had to walk around in a bubble suit like John Travolta, but lately, it seems like every kid has a few foods that might kill him – they rose 18% from 1997 to 2007 alone. I’m no doctor, but I blame this on all the chemicals they’ve been putting in our food. And also on Oprah. Because she never gets blamed for anything and she should be. DOWN WITH OPRAH! (Again, not a doctor.)
Luckily, our son’s allergies don’t seem too bad, but it will definitely require diligence to make sure they stay that way and he doesn’t have any episodes. So now, on top of making sure he looks both ways and doesn’t talk to strangers and doesn’t run with scissors and isn’t racist and eats his vegetables and doesn’t swear and likes the Red Sox and listens to good music and doesn’t join a cult and brushes his teeth and doesn’t bite other kids and knows right from wrong and learns to share and everything else, we also have to make sure he doesn’t eat eggs or roll around in dust.
Ugh, kids are such a pain. Did I mention he’s allergic to cats?
I happen to love cats. Grew up with them (I was literally raised by Old Deuteronomy). Was excited to get one for my son when he was a bit older – ideally, I’d get him a puppy and a kitten at the same time so all three of them would grow up to be best friends and have adventures together! And now it will just have to be a dog.
THANKS FOR RUINING MY LIFE, SON!