the worst mother in the world

Yesterday Ben had a rash. It started with a little hive on his left elbow and spread like wildfire to his torso, chest and arms. He seemed to be having trouble breathing and I looked this combo up online and it said "Food Allergy: Call 911." Ben seemed to be okay, so instead we rushed to my doctor's office to make sure. Dr. Daniel was apparently too busy, so she sent us to Loma Linda University's Pediatric Emergency Room. Also known as the fifth circle of hell. It was there that I met two other mommies and their four and five month old babies. Baby Shyla had juice coming out of her spine from a recent surgery and Caesar had bronchitis. I also met the guy in the wheelchair who spits on people, the quadrapalegic with lumps in his spine and the lady who cut her finger off. Benjamin did pretty well at first. He looked at the other babies. He smiled once or twice. He cried and then he went to sleep. The hours passed, and I called in sick to work. Then Ryan left for work (though he really, really didn't want to) and Ben woke up. All hell broke loose. Ben spit up all over me, the diaper bag, himself, his bottle, his toy cow. He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't sleep. He wouldn't play. I asked how long. They said I was next. Then they called six other people. I asked how long again and they said that five more people were in front of me. Ben screamed and screamed and everyone was staring, even a deaf teenager. Meanwhile the other babies, Shyla and Caesar ignored their issues and kicked and played away. Shyla even fell asleep. Around hour four, Shyla's mom's family showed up with McDonald's. Shyla was up now, playing and bouncing, and I watched her mother curl her hand around a french fry. "She eats hamburgers all the time," her mother boasted, and I smiled in horror. A half an hour later, Shyla's mom left and I thought that if I had a baby with juice coming out of her spine, I would probably wait to see a doctor, but, hey, she probably shouldn't be eating french fries either. At hour five, my father-in-law brought me food. I quickly peed and returned to Ben, whose eyes were red and watery with fatigue. I rocked him and held him tight and changed him and fed him and he grew louder and louder and arched his back and punched me in the face. I also unfortunately chose to wear a button-up blouse that Ben kept ripping open, so I am positive that I flashed everyone one in the room several times. (No wonder the guy with the mask kept staring!) The room turned to face me. Ben woke other babies with his screams. "What's wrong with him?" someone asked. "You should hold him less," another person advised. "You should wrap him up and roll him over and over." I tried to explain that this was just his personality, that he was born this way, but no one would buy it. Finally, Caesar's mom(Caesar was smiling in his carseat) plucked Ben from my arms and walked him around. And he FINALLY stopped crying. It was at this point I went to the restroom, stared at myself in the mirror and thought, I am the worst mother in the world and everybody knows it. When I emerged from the restroom, however, Ben was crying with Caesar's mom too. At hour six, Ben was still crying, and I broke down. I began to cry too. I approached the front desk once more, haggard and weary, and said I wanted a supervisor. Just as the smug asshole at the counter was getting his supervisor on the phone, they called Benjamin. Ben's rash is a common virus, and this morning it was nearly gone. Along with my sanity.