Another allergy has infiltrated our little world. This time it is milk. The other two kids have nut allergies and fish and some other foods. And so I have to go to the pharmacy and pick up another box filled with needles that will potentially save my children's lives if they happen to take a bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or drink a cup of someone's milk.
I started laughing when the doctor came into the room and told me the news. Aidan is allergic to milk. Another allergy. What on earth could we have done to prevent this? I guess if we never met, never fell in love, never married, never had children. Which, obviously, is not a realistic scenario . I was laughing because I was having a conversation in my head to whomever (God, Mary, my grandparents , etc.) would listen right before he walked in. Begging them to just let me have one child that I don't have to worry about. One child that I could send out into the world without wondering if today will be the day he or she will eat a bite of food that will kill him or her.
Apparently no one was listening. Perhaps they are all tired of me making requests and begging for relief. I know I am tired of having to ask. Maybe if my husband makes it through the deployment unscathed, he can be the one to take over the requests. Maybe someone will grant him his wishes.
So I laugh. I cry. I take a deep breath and start going through my cabinets and refrigerator to figure out what foods contain the "bullets" that might kill my kid. I type a long email to my husband giving him the newest bit of news affecting our family. And I sit and wait for the phone to ring in case he was able to get a line out to call home.
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