It was no one’s fault, really.
My cousin didn’t know Cam had a severe peanut allergy, otherwise she wouldn’t have made puppy chow to bring and share at our family gathering. And my grandma, like me, didn’t realize that there was peanut butter in puppy chow, or she wouldn’t have fed it to Cam.
If blame were to be assigned anywhere, it would belong to me and me alone.
I’ve never wanted to be “that” mom. You know the one. The crazy, finicky, “don’t-you-dare-feed-my-child” mom. And honestly, I’ve silently wondered if “those” moms were just grossly overreacting and being ridiculous.
And I could sit in my silent judgment because I’d never had the horrific experience of pleading with God to keep my child alive until that car ride.
So I guess this is what I’m wanting to communicate here: I want to paint a picture so you can better understand Finicky Allergy Mom. I want you to see her, drenched in vomit, mascara smudged from wiping away the annoying tears that keep threatening to spill down her cheeks. I want you to see her shaking for hours after the danger is over… standing over her baby’s bed just to be sure he’s still breathing.
If you ARE Finicky Allergy Mom, I’m so sorry if I’ve ever been less than understanding. This really is a way of life that cannot be understood until you’ve been in the back of a car praying over your sick baby.
Anyway, you might say a prayer for me. I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around the whole situation. And definitely pray for my little guy–that God would continue to protect him and watch over him. He’s only 2.5, so this is all so very hard for him to understand.