For several weeks now, Little Miss Thing here has had a rash that just won’t quit. This has to do, in part, with the fact that, when confronted with any type of itchy skin condition — rash, bug bite, eczema — she tears her own flesh apart incessantly. The word “disconcerting” comes to mind.
For even more weeks now, Little Miss Thing here has been moody, cranky, whiny and prone to bust into a full-blown hissy fit of crying and screaming at the drop of a hat.
This morning, she woke us all up at about 5 a.m. because she couldn’t get back to sleep.
Confronted with all of this, and desperate for any kind of solution, Wonder Woman and I decided it was worth a trip to the doctor’s office today, which was fun, because it gave me the opportunity to engage in a simulated “WWE Smackdown” match with my daughter while forcing the screaming and crying 43-pound fury into submission so that I could show the nurse practitioner the rash in question.
This brief interlude of gazing through the fish tank was about the only part of the doctor’s visit that wasn’t hellaciously unpleasant.
(The nurse practitioner prescribed an ointment that is to be applied to the affected area three to four times per day. I swear to god, if the constant meltdowns don’t stop soon, one of those applications will be administered orally.)