The war began, before her nap, in a small way: a small spot on her face, a small spot on her right heiny cheek – like bug bites. After her nap, her body was a blossoming and blooming of pink puffiness, like an 80’s jacket gone awry, a hive of activity. The war was in full swing. The heiny spot was the size of a navel orange, with smaller spots marching down her leg, up her torso, and down her arm, fanning out in formation. Her right cheek was swollen as if from hand-to-face combat. Oddly, only her right side suffered, itchy, red, and angry, as if this reaction and her body had drawn a line of demarcation in their war against each other.

A trip to the pediatrician’s office yielded little: not poison oak, not poison ivy, but hives, an allergic reaction to…something. Yes, certainly, something. No new foods, no clear insect bites? ¬†Ah. Well. Give her 1/2 tsp. of Benadryl and use hydrocortisone to fend off the encroaching army. If you have further problems, call.

And so it was. After her nap the next day, the battle shifted to her left side, with her left cheek, leg, and side of her torso entering the fray. What did the battle plan look like, and how much of her topographical map did the forces intend to cover? We feared for her valleys and plains, mountains and plateaus.

By the next day, Sunday, however, the war fizzled. The sides forgot what they were fighting over. The last remaining territories, her ankles, went out with only small skirmishes. The troops departed.

We were none the wiser about the cause, but then again, the true causes of war are often obfuscated.

And all was quiet on the toddler’s front. And back.