This is what is different

Ice cream shops have a mythical status in most kids lives. Magic happens in the hands of those scoopers. There is one place in Boulder where the ice cream does not have eggs.  However, several flavors have eggs and almonds so when we stop for a cone, the (lovely) staff disinfects a scooper and heads into the hard freezer for a fresh bin of ice cream that hasn't been cross contaminated. Having spent a summer working at Ben and Jerry's in college, I am fully aware of the workout they are getting in the deep freezer.

It takes extra time and usually embarrasses her - other people have to wait and she stands out because of her allergies (and not her awesomeness). Because not one of those college kids has ever done anything but happily oblige when they've seen her big brown eyes, our bill usually includes my 50% grateful gratuity. 

Then I hold my breath while she eats her ice cream and I act normal. You see, that's what I've done. I've acted normal. I never felt normal. I felt really, really scared. I was always scared. So was she. There was constant fear, everywhere we went.

Last week, we went in and just ordered the ice cream she wanted. We read the ingredients and with no special treatment, we sat in the hot sun and chased our melting ice cream down the cones. Just like everyone else.

We only eat in a few restaurants with her. Three restaurant- epi-pen-needed- accidents will do that to you. If we eat somewhere else, we pack her food. That was fine until her pre-tween (is that a thing now?) self started sinking into her long body because of the unwanted attention. When we went to the dinner theater with friends, she waited until the lights went down to pull out her thermos.

Dammit.

But now? I breathe. I'm not always scared. Her world is profoundly safer. Today she ate 300mg of her allergens combined. She does that every day (until Thursday when she starts eating 600mg). That's more than might be on your hands after your lunch so go ahead and give her a hug! Hell, kiss her on the cheek! She'll be fine.

We went to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. We never went there because their chocolate is cross contaminated with almonds. She sucked down four chocolate coins while strolling along the river. We still need to check ingredients but if you flip her burger and an egg with the same spatula, we wont even know it. We wont be leaving the ER four hours later.

She was petrified but she pushed her way through a rib at a random restaurant. She couldn't eat more than that but that rib, that one rib was glorious and took profound courage. I wonder what bystanders thought while I was pep talking her in the middle of the BBQ joint off of I-70? 

This morning, both girls were driving me up the wall. So? I sent them to the park. Since the dawn of the suburban reality, parents have been kicking kids out to the park to preserve their (lingering) sanity. Now, my sanity stands a (limited) chance. I didn't go with them (I did send the walkie- talkie in case someone needed stitches). Spilled bag of almonds next to the slide? Toddler with a muffin? No worries.

We aren't *there* yet but this place is safer than the world has been since she was four months old. I go looking inside of me for the fear but its gone. There is only a scar. Even if we never go further than this, we can all exhale. Touch is no longer dangerous. Your car doesn't need to be vacuumed before she gets in. We meet new neighbors and don't even mention her allergies.

The freedom and possibilities are making me downright giddy. 

The trial ends at 36 weeks. She hits her maintenance dose at 20 weeks. We are about to start week 14. Who wants to have us over for dinner in October?