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All the flares in all the years I've been going through this were cake compared to the one I had a few weeks ago. I don't know what started it or what finished it but I'm guessing I sat naked on a fireant hill. Actually I'm guessing it was all the cold medicine and the fatigue of this plague that is going around.

To make matters worse, my son wouldn't let me be. He was sick and going through some sort of terrible twos stage and had a particularly rough day with another kid at the daycare. All I wanted was to lie still and pantsless until the pain stopped and all he wanted was to be close to me. He is three now, too old to be sleeping and sitting near me if I'm undressed because he is obsessed with the fact that girls don't have penises and wants to see what they do have. I'm not the kind of mom who will show him.

I was in my bed crying for relief, he was in his bed crying for me. I didn't know what to do.

I gave into him.

I put on a skirt, washed my face, and got out of bed to hold him.

Despite my efforts, he saw that I had been crying and stroked my face and played with my hair and told me that everything was going to be okay because he loved me.

And I stroked his face and played with his hair and told him the same.

And it will be, someday.