J has chicken pox.
We have a shared arrangement with J’s mum. He does a week here, then a week there. It works for us. J was at his mum’s last week and we picked him up from school yesterday for his week here and noticed that he had some spots on his face. He tried to tell us that the big one was a pimple – totes possible considering he is 12 years old, on the verge of puberty and all that, and then tried to tell us that the rest were mosquito bites because he left his window open at night. Firstly, it’s winter ffs, what the hell are you doing with your window open, child! And secondly, pretty damn sure mosquitoes don’t bite you 30 times all over your body when your all covered up by a nice warm doona.
D: (concerned) J has got all these itchy spots in random places all over his body.
Me: Maybe he’s got chicken pox.
D: Really? Nahhhhhhh, don’t you get all sick and shit?
Me: Well apparently he was off school on Friday, and remember he was all headachy last weekend with a sore throat and stuff?
D: (Rushes off to consult Dr Google. Diagnosis confirmed.) You better take him to the (real) Dr tomorrow and find out how long he has to stay home and what it means for T.
This morning J’s 30 odd spots have multiplied and Dr affirms our suspicions. 1 whole week off school. Dang, I just got rid of them after the holidays. Sigh. I have to say, I was a tad worried about T Bear. D, K and I have all had the pox but of course little doodle hadn’t, and I was pretty sure that it was unavoidable. I just wanted to find out what I could do for him given he is too young for antihistamines and other such marvelous miracle drugs (Allergy sufferer here. If you are also one, you know what I mean. Word).
As it turns out, T will more than likely be absolutely fine. I’m talking completely unaffected! And even if he is unlucky enough to contract the chicken pox, it will be a wussy mild version of the real deal. I hear a chorus of, ‘Wow, that’s amazing! How so?’ Well, I’ll tell you. Wait for it, it is extraordinary…
My boobs to be exact. My boobs have a fucking magical super power that protects my baby against chicken pox. How freaking awesome is that? My boob milk antibodies wrap him up in a protective sheath of all that is good and pure in the world and keep him safe from the evil forces of chicken pox.
Boobs really are the ducks nuts of body parts, are they not? They make your bikini look good, provide a soft pillow for a friend in need, make a damn fine resting spot for your morning cuppa and your cleavage is a well designed catchment zone for cookie crumbs which you may like to save for later. Also boys (and girls) like to touch them. AND they provide a perfect meal for your offspring. AND they ward off nasty viruses! I told you – the cat’s meow.
So, if anyone needed another reason to breastfeed, this is it. Go and stick a boob in your baby’s mouth. You can thank me for it later when all the babies in your playgroup are covered in spots but your precious little one is a happy little unblemished camper, free to frolic in the garden and play with the pixies.