Yuck. I whined a few days ago about the current battle of the poison oak rash I was involved in. Several of you gave some great advice and I tried everything including some of the old standards I normally do when afflicted with the beast (although Kym's orgasmic hot shower was a very nice, albeit temporary relief). My normal willingness to just "ride it out" changed when I woke up this morning and discovered the creature had overtaken my inner thighs and made no promises of not migrating into inappropriate places; places good girls do not itch or scratch in public.

I decided it was time to call the doc. I knew it meant a shot but I didn't care; the oozing, itching, skin cracking and weeping was driving me nuts and the prospect of getting it there, just didn't sit well with me (literally). Thankfully, the doctor's office was willing to take me in between patients and they even agreed to see me after I told them I'd have the three kids with me. The receptionist laughed - clearly thinking I was joking - and I again repeated that I'd have three little mongrels all hyped up on Christmas cookies and candy, riding the high that winter break can bring. She finally got a little quiet, understanding the seriousness of my tone. I thought the warning was more than fair.

Prior to going to my appointment, Taterbug had a follow-up visit with her pediatrician. The poor little gal has been dealing with what we thought was acid reflux. When an upper GI showed her innards to be in tip top shape, we shifted gears and started exploring a food allergy. So far, we think she might have a Gluten allergy but I wanted to confirm my suspicions with someone who went to school much longer than me.

When we got to the Ped's office, I immediately noticed the clock was missing from the room. This office is notorious for running late so I guess the absence of the clock means out of sight, out of mind. If you can't see that they're running late, then you really aren't - works for me. Thankfully, our waiting was relatively short and I was able to herd the animals on into the examination room. Gunny promptly turned into a kitteh kat, and proceeded to crawl around the room, meowing and at one point, licking the floor. As I pulled out my hand sanitizer, I thought better against making him gargle with it, but it was so very tempting.

As the Ped knocked on the door, Gunny heard her, and threw himself to the ground. Gunny doesn't like the doctor's office so much, and even being armed with the knowledge that it wasn't a trip for him, he wasn't so convinced. As he looked up at the doctor, I heard him utter the words I'd hoped he'd previously forgotten:

Gawd damwit!

I thought I was going to curl up right then and there, slammed forever into a fetal position preventing me from ever having to deal with my almost three year old trucker son, who had a mouth that could make a sailor blush. I corrected him the best that I could without totally going nutso and I honestly don't even think the Ped noticed.

Our appointment went quick, which I was very thankful for, since I was starting to sweat and itch in places that good girls normally do not touch - at least in public. Taters kept a stiff upper lip even when told she'd need to supply a blood sample at the hospital lab. She has my fear of needles and nothing you can say or do makes the sampling process go any easier. The Ped also told her she'd have to provide a stool sample. I was surprised when Taters started laughing because I didn't realize she knew what that meant. She then looked at me, still laughing, and said I'd have to collect it. It's so great being a mom sometimes...not. The ped mentioned Celiac Disease which in all seriousness, really scared me. I know it's an Autoimmune disease but other than that, I just don't know enough about it to not be freaked out. Ultimately, I know she'll be fine but I hate when any of my kids are sick.

After her visit, we rushed over to my doctor's office because the swooshing of the cool air combined with the way my Levi's rubbed my legs, felt surprisingly good. As we walked in, Gunny started to complain that "he was bowwinnggg" (boring but he meant bored) and wanted to "weave." The nurses took pity on me and quickly placed us in the examination room. Through the door, I could hear the doctor quietly asking how many people I had brought with me, as Gunny once again was channeling his inner kitteh kat.

After a quick exam and a couple of questions, he left the room and the nurse came back in, complete with a huge syringe loaded with murky goo guaranteed to ease my need to scratch and itch. I started to unbutton my pants while the kids watched through grimy, finger covered faces. The three little heathens were all belly laughing at the thought that Momma was going to have to get a shot in her butt. The nurse saw me do this and said they normally gave the shot of hell in the arm so my cheeks would be safe.

She told me to relax as I got the injection but as soon as I felt the initial pang of pain, I instantly tensed up. Big mistake. Getting the shot really didn't bother me, but afterwards I thought I had been injected with snake venom because it hurt so bad. Here I was telling Taters to not be a wuss about giving a blood sample, and I couldn't even use my right arm. I looked like a stroke victim when I left the office, my right arm sadly dragging behind me. I moaned and yelped the entire way home. I instantly felt bad for making light of my kids when they had their normal vaccines. Paybacks are a bitch and I really got mine.

We are now home and I'm slowly able to use my arm again. I haven't told the kids yet, because they are still somewhat babying me and leaving me alone to watch grown-up TV. I figure I can milk it at least another hour and then I'll need to fess up and do the mom thing again.