Today we took the ump-trillionth visit to the doctor for a variety of stupid ailments that aren’t really debilitating, but annoyingly present and threaten to turn into a two a.m. visit to Urgent Care. Amelia is sporting a watery and (sometimes) gooey right eye. It’s not red, but gooey, and the skin underneath is red and raw. Yesterday Matt said she looks like somebody punched her. I’m pretty sure Carson is not to blame. I hope.
Over the past ten days I’ve been patiently waiting for it to resolve itself. And it has several times, but it keeps coming back. An old mid-wife remedy recommends putting breast milk her eye. I’m told it’s something about the anti-microbial properties; and I am sure they mean I should use an eyedropper, but what a hassle, right?
Instead, I’ve been making it game of target practice after each feeding. Amelia has learned to expertly dodge me. She reaches with outstretched hand in an NBA-ish move, blocking the shot. I bob, weave, and try to distract her, making clicking noises with my tongue, trying to get her to open her eyes in curiosity. Then, at just the right moment when she’s not turning away or wagging her face side to side with an open mouth trying to put a cap on it, I lean in and spray her one good. She usually gets a good face-washing along with some in her eyes. She puffs air out her mouth instinctively like a little swimmer. She protests and rubs her eyes. Then she smiles when she tastes the few drops that roll onto her lips. Nice to know all those years I spent milking goats in my childhood were good for something.
Of course I don’t share this remedy with Dr. K. He looks her over and decides she’s probably got a plugged tear duct, and it’s causing the skin underneath to get red and infected. He pokes around a bit under her eye and in the inner corner. He tries to expunge the plug, and prescribes a salve. I’m holding off until 2AM to see if we really need it.
Until then, more target practice.
