At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if he developed some bizarre flesh-eating disease

These are the times that try a mother's soul.

In the past week and a half, while dealing with the stress of traveling across the world for the holidays, and everything that that entails -- jet lag, being around lots and lots of unfamiliar people, dealing with cold for the first time in his young life -- my poor son has been afflicted with a veritable grand slam of baby maladies.

An ear infection. An inflamed, painful skin infection on his stomach. A bronchial virus. And the real kicker -- a horrible diaper rash that developed suddenly and spread like wildfire over his delicate loins, making every diaper change agonizingly painful and uncomfortable. The rash was exacerbated by persistent runny poops, undoubtedly brought on by insane doses of antibiotics to treat his infections, which also created, notwithstanding my efforts to spike his bottle with probiotics, the perfect conditions for the growth of yeast.

So everything is cleared up now, except that my little monkey is now battling an aggressive yeast infection that is now covering not only his penis, but all of the surrounding skin. He looks like he's got mange all over his balls.

I am not a nervous parent, as anyone who reads this blog understands. But having a sick baby, particularly where the hits just seem to keep coming, is getting me down. I feel like I did something wrong, or didn't take care of him properly, or was somehow negligent. Logically, I know that it's not my fault. As soon as there was a discernible problem, I took him to the doctor, including multiple visits to the emergency room when I couldn't get to my regular pediatrician in a timely manner. But he's so helpless, I feel responsible for every bad thing that happens to him.

Luckily, I can provide the one remedy that every giver of solicited or unsolicited advice has offered over the past number of days: get him to the beach, and get him naked.