The Fear

Dear Henry,

We found out this week that you are allergic to peanuts. I know it's silly, but it kind of broke my heart.

Peanut allergies are dangerous. You could die the next time you're exposed. Your doctor doesn't seem to think so, but it's always in the back my head. This is fine now because you're little, and we're almost always together. But I'm scared, because someday you will go to school, and I won't be able to control everything you eat. And what if you accidentally eat something you shouldn't? The possible consequences terrify me. I read labels obsessively now. I'm scared to take you to a friend's house or leave you with a sitter or feed you food I haven't prepared myself. I'm scared that no one else will understand how important this is. I'm scared you won't understand. Henry, I have worked so hard to keep you safe. Please, please don't screw it up for me.

And there's a more selfish part of my reaction, too. We will never share a peanut butter sandwich. You will never get to eat a Snickers bar or a peanut butter cup (and I never will again). You'll never eat Pad Thai, or any of the other amazing foods that I LOVE because they contain peanuts. And if you can't have them, I can't either, because it's not worth it to expose you to something so dangerous. But it makes me sad, because I love those things, and now I can never share them with you.

I know that I have been lucky so far. We have hardly ever had to worry about your health. I know that this problem has an easy fix: just don't give you peanuts. And I know that lots of people live their whole lives with terrible allergies and are just fine. But I also know that people can die. I know that people make mistakes. And I am scared.