Sniff Sniff. 

Is that sunscreen I smell?
No, my friend, that coconuty goodness isn’t your Hawaiian Tropic 8. It’s my baby girl. Actually, it’s hur buns. Her cheeks. Her butt-tocks. 
We’ve been battling the Worlds Worst Diaper Rash for nearly a month now. I believe it to be triggered by the cloth diapers and my ineptness to add vinegar to the rinse cycle. And then just when it cleared up, we headed to Ma and Pa’s house to pick up some sort of virus, complete with low-grade fever and mucho poopo. Since then, we’ve been a red, scaly mess. Her drawer is like the diaper cream aisle at target, I feel like I’ve tried it all.  New soap, new detergent, shaking a metal rattle counter-clockwise while the moon was in the third phase… 
But while at the chiro office yesterday for my own good crackin’, I mentioned Baby C’s sore tush. We talked the ins and outs of rashes like only a doctor can, and instead of hydrocortisone cream, which seemed to be the only thing to bring relief (but oh, the steroids! on those precious, pure buns!), she told me to give a run with coconut oil. 
Yes,  the stuff I toss with asparagus to give it a sweet, fragrant flavor. 
But nearly 48 hours later and she has finally returned to the opaque pasty hue which her horrid genes have doomed her. And mama is nothing less than thrilled. 
So, that’s the lesson of the day. When the pharma companies fail you, turn to your pantry. 
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