The girls have staph infections.

There. I said it. I admitted it to the world. And it makes me feel like crap. Good moms don’t let this happen.

I should have known earlier that the infected bug bites Rilla has been battling all summer were not going to go away on their own. I should have known the red bumps on her butt were more than just sensitive skin baby rash. I should have paid closer attention to the ginormous bite on Juliet’s belly. I just should have been….better.

So the bites are deflating, and everyone is itching less. But that is only because we have an oral medication twice a day, ointment three-times a day regimen that is making me beg for school to start again.

If we mix the medicine with chocolate syrup, Juliet offers to take both hers and her sisters. But Rilla? She ain’t having it. It is like wrestling a screaming mountain lion cub. And I’ve been on every mommy message board and tried every suggestion on the entire internet (Ask her nicely worked for you? Well isn’t that just precious.) and still every morning and night, two tablespoons of the pink stuff go in and out of her mouth, in her hair, on my clothes, on the kitchen floor, anywhere but in her little system to do all the good anti-biotic magic.

The suggestions aren’t helping. They just make me feel worse. But you know what did help? Hearing that when my husband asked his professor for tips he shrugged his shoulders and said “don’t get your finger bitten off.” Apparently, the professor’s attempts at giving his three-year old medicine resulted in an open wound. Knowing I am not in this alone makes me feel better. It makes the wild wrestling on the floor of my kitchen as the pink stuff flies all over the floor just a little bit more bearable.

I posted yesterday, about this season of hard faith I am walking through. Everything feels just out of grasp. And the comments section were a healing balm. I got no pieces of advice, no helpful suggestions. I got offers of prayers and the ever holy “me too.” The writing it all out, the exposing the thoughts to light had helped, but the me too’s brought healing.

Isn’t that always how it is? Aren’t my thoughts like bumps in the night, terrifying when left in the dark by myself but totally understandable in the light, almost laughable with a friend. Let’s do this thing together, shall we?

________________________________________________________________

In the spirit of doing this thing together, in a brave and stupid act a few months ago I decided to go visit my family via airplane, with the girls, by myself. I am freaking out, we leave tomorrow morning. Prayers appreciated.