tate allergies

Well, we did a thing. 

We took our Tate to the allergist. 

Trying to get his sickly, allergy-ridden, 

snotty, coughy, sneezy self some relief. 

As Elizabeth told me, the allergist is

never a fun appointment. 

Poor Tate learned that first hand. 

It was all fun and games in the waiting room.

It was just me staring at this giant child

trying to figure out when he got so old. 

We never had to wait long, but the

appointment was close to 2 hours because of

how many tests were run. 

Tate watching the news. 

So glad he can’t read yet and it was just

old people talking politics and not

video footage of all the scary happenings. 

Tate has a breathing test, a CT scan,

and round one of testing. 

He gets his puffy eyes from me, 

but all the allergies from

his dad. 

We were misled as to what

the testing would feel like. 

Poor boy was caught off guard by

the 36 pricks. I was, too. 

It was so sad. 

So sad. 

Hard earned ring pop. 

He failed his breathing test. 

Twice. 

He’s still considered pre-asthmatic. 

Hoping that clearing his

(multiple years in the making) 

sinus issues will improve his breathing and

keep him out of being asthmatic. 

I am obviously not a doctor, 

so who knows what these red dots mean. 

Tiny reaction? No reaction? 

We will learn more soon. 

Because. He. Has. To. Go. Again. 

I’ll be coming with ask kinds of

treats for him. 

My poor bub.