​​Out of Control Eczema

My 6-month-old daughter has eczema. I hate this word. I wish I didn’t even know how to spell it. But I do. Each day, I smoother her with Aquaphor and 1{69cdb236979761836b643e1b0f0857ba9ff75f480871fb5c30c4103aecfdbb6a} Hydrocortisone Cream, attempting to cover every inch of her body, but she still manages to scratch, scratch, scratch at her poor skin. One warm day earlier this week, I unthinkingly put her in a short sleeved onesie and now her arm looks like a psychotic cat got her.

When I undress her, her nails go straight to her belly, to itch. I tell her, “No, Sabra, that will hurt you.” But she does it anyway. And this reminds me of two things. Wait, three.

  1.  That God must look down on our eczema of the soul, which he sees us scratching over and over (which only makes us want to scratch it more), and patiently reminds us that he is the only balm that will truly calm us.
  2. That even when 85{69cdb236979761836b643e1b0f0857ba9ff75f480871fb5c30c4103aecfdbb6a} of my daughter’s daily activities are under my control, she is still an individual who makes her own decisions. She has a personality, preferences and a condition I don’t have. Also, I only get to be with her for 17 ½ more years – in which I will pray daily that we raise her up well – and then she will be off, making her own decisions. She’ll decide what she wants to scratch on her own.
  3. And, finally, that she and I are both officially Williams’. She was born into it, but I know that I have now become one because I mindlessly divide my thoughts into numbered bullet points – a trademark Williams trait.

Oh, Baby Sabra. I love you. I love your blue eyes and your lively giggle. I love that you don’t have teeth yet, but your pre-teething slobber is slowly coming on. I love how your eyes follow Brooks around the room like he is the most amazing thing you have ever seen. But your scratching is off the charts. Stop.

God, be our balm.

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