I think I’ve written before about how much insects love my boy. His sweet little skin is ambrosia to mosquitoes, his blood a tonic to black flies. And to some other mysterious bug, Owen is so delicious that the creature had to go back for a fiftieth helping.
I am not even close to kidding.
Last Thursday, Owen came home from daycare as usual, ate supper, played, went upstairs for his bath. But when I pulled up his shirt, I might have screamed. The picture below doesn’t do it justice, but anyway, here:
Impetigo has been going around his daycare, so my first thought was an infection. I washed him really well and was glad that we had a “hypochondriac” doctor’s appointment the next day to look at three (apparently unrelated) blisters on his back.
The first doctor, a resident, started eliminating. Not chicken pox, not impetigo, not herpes (!). He said it looked like bed bugs, but when I explained that it happened during the day, he recanted. He called in the senior doctor, who took one look and said “bugs.” He didn’t know what kind, but said to apply calamine lotion and wait it out.
I must confess, I didn’t quite believe them, but the “rash” never spread, and they are slowly healing. Since then, every time I leave Owen in someone’s care, I pull up his shirt and explain – “This is not a disease. It’s bugs.” I did it to the babysitter, I did it to 2 daycare educators. Since I’ve been dropping Owen off early, I did not have a chance to tell his own educator, who called me Tuesday to report a “rash” – I know, I know, I said. “Bugs.”
Our best guess is that Owen got one or several red ants up his shirt, and somehow didn’t notice as they bit him 50 times.