Anyone who’s spent time with me at a bar knows I have a hair trigger gag reflex. Even the thought of something gross makes me nauseated. In fact, typing the thought of something gross has me nauseated.
Diana used to torture me by reading passages from “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” The juicy bits would make my teeth itch.
Yesterday I discovered Elijah has a disgusting scalp thing going on. Diana, who is far less clueless than I am and has known about this condition for weeks, says it’s called Cradle Cap. It’s a flakey scalp grossness that makes Eli’s head look like the cracked earth in Death Valley.
It gives me the heebee, jeebees in the worst way. I am not lying to you when I say I am currently scratching my own scalp with such ferocity that I will soon draw blood. I carried Eli in his baby Bjorn this morning, which put his Death Valley head right under my nose. I was jerking around trying to shake out the heebee jeebees to the point where I was sure our neighbors called DCFS. I briefly considered wrapping his head in cellophane to provide a protective barrier between the head grossness and me, but then Diana would be forced to call DCFS.
Diana assures me the Cradle Cap will go away as long as we wash his hair with my Head and Shoulders shampoo. She declared my sissiness untreatable.
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