My Poor Little Peach

The Peach has diaper rash. Really bad.

Technically it’s a yeast infection. We have lots of gooey prescription ointment to slather on her bum. She pretty much has one all the time, but usually it’s just a little bit of pink kept at bay with cornstarch baby powder. Right now? The puffy, angry, redness of her ass rivals that of a baboon.

She hasn’t been this bad since she was an itty bitty baby. She pooped FIVE times yesterday.  Started out as hard little turds that I had to speedily snag with a wipe to keep from rolling onto my bed. By the time she got out that last poop, it had morphed into a consistency resembling slightly dry play dough. And it was vividly orange. Which any mom can tell you means higher acid foods, namely, in The Peach’s case, carrots.  Which means more irritation. Which means a kid screaming and crying and thrashing so vigorously, it took both of us to clean her up and change her.

The Peach is a drama queen. We’ve established that. But when you’re a parent, you know the difference between ohmigodyoujustsaidnotomeIhateyounow and ohmigodthishurtssobadmommymakeitSTOP! She was in pain. Serious, horrible, breaking my heart pain. And we cleaned her up and let her air out a bit and slathered her red, swollen tushie with medicine. And hugged her a lot. And she calmed down and went to bed and she was OK. And when I changed her this morning, it looked moderately better and she didn’t wince when I wiped off the pee.


You know... I don't think I want your finger near my baby's ass.

And then, about an hour later, she pooped. Sitting in the living room happily playing and then, like someone flicked a switch, stood up, looked at The Zen Master and wept.

It took both of us again. The Zen Master held her little legs open and I gingerly cleaned her now bleeding little heiny. It was awful. For all of us. She wobbled around the living room, naked as a jaybird for the next 2 hours until she got too cold. Then, being as brilliant as I am (and modest too), I rigged her up a free-the-tushie outfit with a pair of shrunken Princess Punk socks pulled up to her crotch and a long sleeve t-shirt. She looked pretty odd, but hey,  it did what it needed.

So she’s still miserable and we’re trying to keep her as dry and comfortable as possible.

I hope it clears up soon, I hate it when my babies hurt.



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