So I was going to come here and write about the terrible man BO that comes out of the underarms of my tiny little 2-year-old. We were going to laugh about chubby armpit folds, and sweaty toddlers, and just how much the smell of a little kid changes from birth to toddler to a big kid who usually always has a level of scent that hovers around some degree of ‘wet dog.’ I even brought up the smelly armpits to Vivi’s pediatrician before, but he brushed it off as her body’s chemistry being different and it being especially hot.
So when I went back through Google trying to learn more about stinky armpits on toddlers, I found out there may be a lot more to Vivi’s stinky armpits than simply body chemistry and heat. Answers ranged everywhere from “IT’S ALL THE ANTIBIOTICS AND GROWTH HORMONES IN FOOD!” to a legitimate metabolic disorder. Of course my mind goes straight to the worst-case scenario, which, thankfully, if she were suffering from worst-case scenario she’d most likely already be dead. SILVER LININGS!
So rather than joking about stinky toddler and telling you about the spectacular (and safe!) deodorant I found for little kids (and adults! it works!), I’m here to tell you I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I have a handful of things I’m going to try, including keeping track of what she eats to see if any particular food group causes her to become particularly pungent (inorganic dairy and spicy/strong foods seem to be the biggest culprits (good thing we’re having spicy sausage with garlic and onions for dinner!)) as well as a call to her pediatrician to see if he thinks anything of it and if he brushes me off I’ll move on to an endocrinologist.
My husband will surely roll his eyes at me, but when I look back over Vivi’s two and half years of life, there have been a few things that may add up to something. Little things that at the time were (and probably are) insignificant, but maybe worth mentioning to see if they add up to one big thing. It’s times like this I wish Dr. House was a real doctor and he could figure out what was going on simply by going through my medicine cabinet and saying a few belittling things in my direction. (Hey, belittling comments with a diagnosis seem better than what I’m maybe about to go through — which is uncertainty.)
I’m not freaking out — I could be freaking out, but I’m not. I’m simply documenting this journey for the Internet because someday some other parent is going to Google Toddler BO, perhaps have a bit of a panic attack, and then hopefully see this and their path will be that much clearer.