My son is not what you would call...um...particularly healthy. He was born with a rare heart condition, developed a rare skin condition, and has RAD, which is like baby asthma, when he gets sick. Despite all these scary things, God has been so amazing in the fact that while each of these conditions could be a big problem and affect his quality of life, none of them have been. At all. Shockingly so.
But when we gave him peanut butter for the first time and he got hives, we weren't exactly surprised. But we were definitely scared. His other conditions could be dangerous, but were rarely life-threatening. How would we keep him safe?
Thankfully, after a blood and a skin test, it appears that the hives may have been a fluke. Or something. But we found out the devastating (for me at least) news that he is allergic to cats and dogs. And we have 2 cats.
How does this happen? I thought. Kids who grow up with pets are supposed to have a better ability to deal with life and have fewer allergies. Now it looks like my first 2 babies are causing my real baby to have asthma.
I tried not to cry in the allergist's office, but it was a battle. Not only do I enjoy my cats' company, but I feel a responsibility. When I brought them in as wild little feral kittens and tamed them (this is actually true), it was with the intention of caring for them forever. Now I would have to hand them over to someone else. And they aren't going to understand. I keep thinking about a line from one of my favorite movies, where the main character bemoans the fact that after she left, her dog probably sat around wondering what he had done wrong. Will my girls think that when I have to leave them in a stranger's home?
I know in the grand scheme of things, this is seriously a small sacrifice. There are parents all over the world giving up their jobs, their food, even their lives for their children. I'm giving up my cats. It hurts. My little E-man is 100% worth it. But it still hurts.