I went to see a doctor about it a year ago when it had managed to annoy me sufficiently to take action. The doctor, a Tammy-Faye Baker knock-off in fringed scrubs (you think I'm kidding, don't you? It seems that they do, indeed, exist) examined the rash, and then disappeared with her assistant into a back room. When they returned, they had with them a giant book in which they had linked my symptoms with a picture of a nasty-looking rash that very much mine on a particularly bad day.

Chronic something-or-other. It's never, ever going away. Isn't that just the luck?

They gave me a handful of little sample tubes of cream to treat it, and they printed out the pages of the book that discussed the rash. Eric was mightily amused when, reading it aloud, I came to the paragraph that said that, since the rash was prone to flare during times of stress, an appropriate treatment could be psychotherapy.

My finger is erupting, and I need a shrink!

Anyway, I used the little tubes of cream, and they proved quite effective in taming the worst of the itching. I only used a little at a time, and so I therefore still have quite a little stash remaining to me. Unfortunately, they are steroid-based, and really, really not meant to be used during pregnancy. Pregnancy, if nothing else, is a time during which the body is under a great deal of stress. Do you see where this is heading?

Last night I woke up as I was rubbing the sheets, hard, between my fingers, trying desperately to assuage the itching. The rash was once confined to the first knuckle of my finger, but it's starting to spread up past the second knuckle now. After I couldn't take any more last night, I finally got up and used some cortisone cream; the tube didn't warn against use during pregnancy, but I was nervous all the same. I'll have to ask Barbara about it at my next appointment, but in the meantime, I really couldn't handle any more itching.

These rashes are quite genetic; Mom was always prone to multiple skin disorders, and she managed to pass them along to me. (My brother, with identical coloring, managed to escape them somehow.) I really and truly hate to think that I'll one day be taking my child to the doctor for creams and steroids. Oh, Little Bit, let's pray that you managed to nab your father's skin genes instead of your mother's!

I slept in for an absolutely decadent length of time, trying to make up for the fact that I haven't been able to sleep through the night for weeks now. When I finally awoke, I reached for a book and stayed in bed for several more hours, finally leaving the bed only to quiet my increasingly angry stomach. I felt better than I'd felt in a long, long time, even if there were a few twinges of guilt for the laundry that went undone during my siesta.

Of course, Eric made me feel much more guilty than that when he called home and learned that I hadn't even dressed yet. Rats on him, anyway.

Actually, I've been feeling guilty in many Eric-related capacities lately, unfortunately. The most pressing is housework; when I get a spare moment, all I can think to do is lie down and rest, which isn't conducive to cleaning, cooking, or straightening. Pregnancy-brain has robbed me of what few bookkeeping abilities I had, and I've been forgetting to make phone calls or bank transactions until Eric has reminded me on multiple occasions. Finally, there's, um, "extracurricular activities." I've been too nauseated or too tired to even think about between-the-sheets entertainment; yes, I've been a little nervous, too, no matter how many books tell me that sex during pregnancy is fine in most cases. I've been trying my best, but my heart hasn't been in it. Eric's being very patient with me in all matters, thankfully.

I just hope that his patience doesn't have to last for much longer. I need that second-trimester energy boost that everybody keeps mentioning. Do I really have to wait three more weeks?