I noticed a couple of red blistery spots on the baby’s diaper line this morning. Two days after being in a Doctor’s office and a rash or some other illness surfaces, sounds about right.

Later in the day, the baby walked up to me (backwards of course) and said, “bum, bum, bum” and I knew something was bothering her.

The three bumps had increased to ten and they looked red, hot and raw.

Having been through this twice before, I could only assume I should save myself a trip to the clinic and diagnose the chicken pox for what they were. I had some cream in the cupboard, who cares if the expiry date was three years ago, it would do just fine. Gasp. First time parents would be at emerge anxiously awaiting the diagnosis. I know this because I was this person seven years ago and walked out with a parking ticket and a script for the very ointment I was about to apply to child number three.

First, I tried giving her a creamy, oatmeal bath meant to soothe irritated skin.

Dear Aveeno, please add a drop of purple food colouring to your oatmeal bath so it looks less like a swampy soak in human vomit and more like a blueberry juice extravaganza. Even my eighteen month old scowled when I first dipped her feet in.

I really didn’t (still don’t) know what the bumps were. Heat rash? I had just heard on the news they have found a link to an increase in narcolepsy in Scandinavian children who had been inoculated with the H1N1 vaccine. Perhaps diaper line blisters are how Canadian kids are reacting? Maybe that summer I spent in Sweden is wreaking havoc on her dual citizen symptoms?

I guess I was due for some bad news given we lucked out with two straight days of luxurious ruby-red weather. Two out of 365, yep, that sounds fair.