Yucky

Yesterday morning I woke up with a cold sore on my lip.

I think most people don't like getting cold sores, but I especially dread them because mine are always enormous. Today it is ten times the size it was yesterday (about a half inch now) and my entire upper lip is swollen to the point where it hurts to talk. Or eat. Or smile. Or even think about smiling.

All my life I've been getting them, though I haven't had one for about five years now. They come on in times of stress or illness or when I am simply run down. So I am not surprised I have one. I've been dreading June for a while now. Lots going on this month.

My first memory of getting cold sores was when I was in first grade. It was a pretty severe case that covered both of my lips. It was so bad, my mother served me runny Cream of Wheat through a straw three times a day. I missed two weeks of school.

From then on I panicked whenever I knew one was coming. I usually missed school for a few days and hid from the world. My embarrassment was made worse when I was in junior high and a boy in my ward announced at a youth activity, "Don't kiss Jennifer! She gets cold sores!" I had no intention of kissing anyone back then, but that single comment made me more paranoid than ever.

The first day of starting high school, I woke up with a honking one. I knew I couldn't miss school so I put a band aid over it and told everyone I ran into our entertainment center and had to get stitches.

Many times when I was in hiding, I would cry piteously in my room and think all sorts of over-dramatic things like, "I am a monster!" and "No one will ever marry me!!!"

I didn't get any cold sores at all when I was in college. But a few months after I was married, I did. I remember waking up in the morning thinking Steve would shrink away in horror from me. But he hardly noticed and the only thing he ever said about it was, "I miss kissing you. I can't wait till that thing is healed."

Now, after all these years, I can laugh about it more. I'm still grossed out and afraid of grossing out others, but within a week it will be mostly gone and who really cares after all? Not Steve. Not even my kids, whom I thought would be afraid of me a little, at least the littlest one. Instead Noelle occasionally points to it and says, "Mommy owie?" and then she plops herself in my lap. Lincoln prayed yesterday that "Mom's lip would heal fast" and Laura said something like, "We don't care if you look gross. So long as you make our food and clean the house for us."

So that's that.

(Laura's comment triggered in my mind all sorts of retorts, but that's a topic for a whole other post.)