Strange, But True

Weird things happen to my skin when I have prolonged contact with water. My dermatologist diagnosed me with eczema - he also called it “mommy hands,” saying that moms are generally rough on their skin and don’t take the time for themselves (what time?) that they should. But I happen to know my fair share of moms. To my knowledge none of their hands start to look quite like mine do if they’ve been around water too long.

I know. You’re probably thinking – she’s just trying to get out of stuff – right? Stuff that involves water. Stuff like cleaning.

Actually I think Alexander had that same thought. But a few weeks ago I proved him wrong. I cleaned the fridge out while the boys tackled the more water-intensive chores. I thought I’d be relatively safe, but apparently the exposure to the cleaning fluid and periodically washing my hands throughout the process was too much for my delicate constitution. My hands completely broke out. Alexander promised to never tease me about my “water allergy” again. (He also said if he hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have bought my story for a second).

Since then, my hands have developed “an itch that rashes” (eczema phrase – like it?) after:

• Taking a nice long relaxing bath

• Changing just shy of a million dirty diaper in one day (I guess I shouldn’t have been so careful about washing my hands after each one)

• Washing the dishes by hand

• Showering too long or too frequently (usually not a problem)

• Washing my hands repeatedly each day for a week to ward off the germs that I caught eventually anyway

• Giving the boys a bath

My dermatologist said that I should wear rubber gloves to do all these things. I’ll give you a second to formulate the mental images (focusing on my glove-clad hands of course, people). I think you can see how ridiculous this would become. Plus, the powder they put in the gloves also wreaks havoc on my hands.

I guess I’m out of luck. I can never clean again. Poor me, I know. But there is one thing I do miss: bath time with my boys. The time when they are perhaps at their cutest ever. And I no longer get to participate.

So even though I’m fully aware of how many moms (and dads, alike) would kill for an excuse such as mine, at bath time I do find myself tempted to slip on that pair of nasty, powder-filled, elbow-high, rubber-ducky yellow, plastic gloves. Just so I can be there for moments like this.