Poison Ivy

One would think that, after years of hiking around in the woods, the Mom of No would be able to avoid poison ivy.  Since I am right now sitting here unsuccessfully trying not to scratch the rash on my arm, it is manifestly evident that no, I cannot avoid the stuff.  Poison ivy is from the devil. I don't even think I have to touch it anymore; I just have to see it.  Or, I don't even have to see it.  I just have to envision it. If you tell me poison ivy is somewhere, I will break out in a rash just thinking about those leaves of three.   I will probably break out in a brand new rash just by writing about poison ivy. The offspring will probably gladly testify that I get poison ivy at least a few times a year, and it sucks!

Having a poison ivy rash is a lot like having a baby.  You're up all night, everyone has a comment or a story to share with you, and everyone has a lot of advice to offer you, some good, some not so good.

Having seen the movie "Big Fat Greek Wedding", in which the father advocates the use of Windex to cure all ills, the teenagers have suggested using Windex to reduce the itching of the rash.  I can tell you that Windex does not work.  Yes, I tried it.  At 2 AM, when you have the irresistible urge to scratch off an entire layer of skin, you will try anything. Even Windex.

What does work is prednisone, but prednisone also gives me insomnia and the munchies, so instead of not sleeping because I am itching, I am not sleeping because I am in the kitchen at 2 AM eating pickles out of a jar, just like when I was pregnant (although then I think it might have been watermelon and mustard).  Also, to get prednisone you have to go to the doctor, and then there's the whole thing again about "how did this happen to you? Don't you know better by now?".  Ok, so maybe I wasn't wearing a long sleeved shirt.  I don't need the judging! I'm suffering enough!

When people see the rash, I can tell they are curious and deciding if they want to ask what it is and, more importantly, is it contagious? I'll glance at it and then at them and mouth the words "poison ivy".  Then the eyes will get wide, and the poison ivy horror stories come out.  It's like women talking about going into labor.  Almost everyone has a poison ivy story.  Often, these stories involve sensitive body orifices, trips to the emergency room, and weeks of horrendous itching.  People who have never had poison ivy (or been in labor) start to look a little shocked and green around the gills. 

Occasionally someone will say "oh, I'm so lucky, I'm not allergic".  If you are one of those lucky people, you should keep that information to yourself. You're not helping.  You're the poison ivy version of the mom who says "Oh, my baby slept through the night as soon as we brought her home from the hospital".

Even if I can manage the itching during the day, at night it becomes exponentially worse.  As the night wears on, I lay there cursing the moment that I got into the poison ivy.  Then I become sleep-deprived, I attempt to mitigate the lack of sleep with additional caffeine, and I become a hyperactive sleep deprived person with poison ivy.  It's not a good time for me to make important decisions.

At least with poison ivy, I don't have to worry about people wanting to touch my belly, like they did when I was pregnant.  No one in their right mind would want to touch that rash. Even I don't want to touch it and it's my poison ivy rash.