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The thing about a big impending move, and skin cancer, is that they can kind of overwhelm a girl.

When the “suite life” calls and says they only have one king sized bed for your family of four, or your dermatologist removes a large mole from your hip that hurts surprisingly badly, you just need a hug. But, since you work in Cubeville where hugs are forbidden you decide to retreat to your spreadsheets and swallow that lump.

When you drive through McDonalds for the nutritious dinner that you’ll be sure to include in your Mother-of-the-Year portfolio and the two Happy Meals come with very different toys which results in much weeping and gnashing of teeth, you once again swallow that lump and the guilt, always the guilt.

When the children are asked to select a few things we might get rid of before the move, and they select random puzzle pieces and a Polly Pocket outfit, you laugh a little but realize that this too will become your job, which of course you will do behind their back, hence more guilt.

And when the handsome photographer works until two or three in the morning every night to wrap up all the loose ends that remain from his bustling business you wonder if he might be a teensy bit stressed too, so you do not ask him to make you a homemade frappucino in the morning.

But in the quiet twilight of a busy day as your big first grader sleeps angelically, you ask your sweet Julia to be your nurse and she gently applies medicine to your back where more moles have been chopped. She is gentle and talks quietly and presses the bandaid on thoughtfully. She asks if it would be possible for her to be a nurse AND an artist AND a mommy when she grows up? “Absolutely!” you tell her, and she cuddles up in bed and tells you Fancy Nancy jokes until you both doze off to sleep. And you are thankful for this day.

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The skin choppery begins today people. My sister will be in attendance, she watched me birth Julia (and she wasn't watching from the cheap seats if you know what I mean) so a little arm cutting shouldn't bother her. Next week are the feet (eek) and then tummy and legs. August is totally hacked.

PS - Someday I'll tell you about the faces my sister made whilst my sweet Julia was entering this world, it was priceless.

About two months ago I started getting really freaked about my moles. I have them checked yearly, and it is always a lovely experience involving an airy gown and awkward bra-less conversation. The climax is inevitably the removal via razor of several questionable spots, which the nurse always follow-up calls to say are weird but not so weird as to be dangerous. Two weeks ago I returned for this yearly revelry, and for kicks I brought the husband and kiddos. I told my doctor I wanted him to explain to Brandon what we’re looking for on this awkward expedition, “Cause I’m always freaked out that I’ve got cancer or something” to which the doctor might have rolled his eyes but it was hard to tell under all of that awkwardness.

This visit there was only one spot of interest, and the doctor cored it out, you know to change things up a little. I got stitches. Just sayin’, my kids thought I was pretty brave.

The following week I had a voicemail from my doctor’s office, and it was my doctor calling. Uh oh. It’s never good when the doctor calls with results and asks that you “please call me back as soon as you have a chance.” I spent the rest of the day attempting countless times to reach the doctor, and waiting, which is the WORST.

At 5:45 that evening the doctor finally called, and turns out my core was an in-situ-melanoma, which is fancy words for skin cancer, which is an overly dramatic way of saying a teensy-tinsy spot of stage zero cancer, which is to say he totally should never roll his eyes at me when I half-joke that I am totally freaked about skin cancer.

Things I did immediately: enjoy a leisurely dinner with my Aunt Jill who took the girls shopping and to Sonic which was marvelous.

Things I did not do immediately: google ANYTHING

My mom went to the follow-up visit with me the next day, since Brandon had his fair share of fun with the core-business. The doctor provided an encore awkward and extremely thorough review of every spot he could spot, and selected three more for immediate removal – ouch. He also explained the procedures he will be performing to remove more around the core on my arm, as well as an extremely nerve-racking procedure I will have done to remove a large mole on the top and bottom of my foot…. Biting nails and stressing at this very minute. My mom said she’ll get me a pedicure beforehand, and admittedly this does almost make it worth it.

I spent the weekend in St. Louis avoiding any tv show on the free cable having to do with skin beauty or death, both of which I want to have nothing to do with. I am very white, covered in chicken-pock, gallbladder removal, baby carrying, and now mole factory removal scars. And I am fine with that, and so is my dear husband, who applied medication all weekend to my open wounds and only gave me a kind of weird look when I asked if it would be weird if I went out without a bra on (cause it hurts so much).

Supposing all future spots come back fine, I should be good. But I will now be purchasing long sleeved shirts for sun protection at all times, which is literally all-the-time because my gosh that sun is EVERYWHERE. I might become like the mother on The Others and keep the curtains drawn, but long-sleeved shirts may be less awkward, and we already know how awkward this has already become what with the whole bra-less action and what-not.