God pulled a quick one (he's a nasty little devil like that), and now we're thinking Ry may have Fifth Disease. Either that or Rubella, Roseola, or the Measles. But we're hoping for Fifth. Didn't know there was a Fifth, but it's sounds the least menacing, so we're going with that one.
Let's journey back about 10 days ago when the kids were at the Lake and Ry developed a rash on her upper arms and legs. No fever that I am aware of, nor any other illness-like syptoms, so dose her with Benadryl and let's get on with it. Few days later, rash is gone, all is right in the world.
Cut to yesterday when she comes back from Ninny's with a red splotch on one cheek and a few tiny red dots on the other. I'm thinking allergic reaction to Nin's pillows or detergent, something mild and pleasant like that. But then I meet the Mommy Brigade at the library and everyone is agog over her bright red, splotchy, prickly cheeks, proclaiming Fifth's Disease and casting furtive looks at one another. Which leaves me sheepishly packing up our gear and getting the hell outta that place before we cause an epidemic.
But wait -- I mentioned the locale, yes? Ye Old Library, home to everybody's favorite Wicked Librarian, who happens to have the pleasure of checking us out this fine day. Yes, this fine day in which I have $5 in overdue fines, a cranky baby, and a splotchy little girl with an attitude that's fixin' to leave her butt splotchy as well. As luck would also have it, this is the trip I choose to check out "Raising Cain", some helpful hooey on boys and their emotions, blah blah blah. It would appear to the average Joe that I am a conscientious mother, proactive in my parenting techniques, and always one step ahead of the game.
But we're not dealing with an average Joe. We're dealing with She-Whose-Name- Must- Not-Be-Spoken. In a classic throwback to what must have been her vaudeville days, she looks at the book, looks at my stomping, screaming, pouting, splotchy daughter, does a double-take, and mutters (yes, mutters), "too bad it's not 'Raising Delilah'." At this point I'm pretty sure I audibly gasped, picked Ryan up, held her over the counter and told her to "please ask the NICE LADY for a stamp -- and make sure you ask loudly so she can hear you (and throw a few coughs in for kicks)!"
Meanwhile, we have an ENT follow-up appt in an hour, and I've yet to get dressed, call the pediatrician, or any of the other things on my to-do list. And now we'll be rushed and late, and it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT.
Kisses! And Think "Fifth"!!!