Parenthood is full of curveballs and unexpected changes of pace that go way beyond the milestones that every "normal" child is expected to reach. Some things, like Trips to the ER that end up creating The Gnarly of Scars, are par for the course for most of us. Allergies can be bumps in the road, but aren't altogether unexpected considering the prevalence of seasonal allergies. But when your child has an anaphylactic allergy of any kind, it tests your resolve as a parent, particularly if that allergy is food.
The reality that food — not poison — is suddenly poisonous to another human being is a challenging concept for most of us. "Why?" "Will it really be lethal?" "But I washed it, so it's okay." We've heard all of these statements. When your child has an anaphylactic food allergy to anything that is a staple of your national cuisine, the complications become exponential. Explaining the difference between protein and bacteria, or between food-related pathogens and protein, has become routine, and yet it confuses people. Educated people. Intelligent people. Well-intentioned people.
Then there's everyone else. Unfortunately, the intelligent, educated, well-intentioned people make up the extreme minority. Everyone else deliberately or ignorantly goes out of their way to exclude your child. They also want to argue the merits of our requests for accommodations as though the meme they read on social media somehow makes them as much of an expert on allergies as a board-certified allergist. Take school parties, for example, where food is passed out and your child is forced to navigate the proverbial minefield that ensues. There is a dearth of consideration for inclusion, and a general indifference when confronted.
When my son was in kindergarten, his class Valentine's Day party provided another opportunity for exclusion. All of the other children received goodie bags full of various candies. A selection of stuffed animals were also passed out. Not one of the other parents thought to provide something my son could have other than the stuffed animal, but when they were passed out, the one he actually wanted and requested (a stuffed Dalmatian puppy) was purposefully given to a different child.
Seeing his disappointment, his mother went to the store and was fortunate to locate the last one on the shelf and add it to the goodie bag she had made for him. Thanks to his mother, he had a plush toy and a goodie bag full of candy he could safely consume. If his mother hadn't gone out of her way to create something special for him, the other parents would have succeeded in excluding our son from participating in a "normal" activity.
Children are amazingly resilient though. My son's disappointment was a distant memory thanks to the efforts of his mother. In fact, he couldn't stop discussing his new plush toy, which he decided to name "Lucky." Carrying his doll around in a full embrace, front paws stretched open like arms, the way a child wraps their arms around a parent, he approached his mother and said, "Mama, Lucky doesn't have 'be mine' (like a conversation heart), but she can still 'Be Mine!'" He flashed his golden smile, instantly melting his mother's heart.
Of course she can.
