I'm starting to think (prepare yourself, this is big) that my mother might be right. My kid has allergies.
Growing up, my mother was not the chicken soup kind of mom. If I went to her and said, "Mom, I don't feel good." Her response, without fail, was, "Well did you take something?" Meaning -- had I self-medicated already? My usual response was "No, ma'am" (I was nothing if not polite as a child, even when I was sick). To which, Mom would say, "Well then, I don't feel sorry for you." (I'm pretty sure this is when I developed my pill-taking phobia -- I still can't swallow pills without chewing them first.)
Also, we never had colds as children. Not one. We had allergies. Granted, we lived in Georgia, where pollen coats the entire state yellow for at least two or three months a year, but still, to never pick up a virus? Seems unlikely.
So when my own kids are sick and my mom diagnoses them over the phone with, "It's allergies" -- it rubs me the wrong way and brings back memories of me as a six year old trying to get the child-proof cap off the Dimetapp bottle so that I could take some before I went to tell Mom I couldn't breathe and my throat felt like I'd swallowed an SA8 pad (that's steel wool for all of you who grew up in non-Amway households).
But. Mace has a clear runny nose, an unexplained rash, and a lingering cough. He is eating like a toddler (on again, off again) and doesn't have a fever.
The boy has allergies.
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