What if you had an itch and you couldn’t scratch it? Not because you couldn’t reach… but because you didn’t have arms. Don’t laugh. It happens.
Why would I even think of this? Because I’ve stumbled upon the sweetest toddler on social media who was born without limbs. He is the cutest, most determined little human I’ve ever seen. He has prosthetic legs now, and with the tiny bit of limb he does have for arms, he’s learned how to pick things up. It’s incredible. Inspiring. And today, right after my own personal itch emergency – it hit me:
What happens when he gets one of those itches?
You know the kind. The middle of your back itch . The one no human assistant can ever quite reach, no matter how many times you bark:
“Lower. No, lower. To the right. Up a little. A little more. Now to the left. Oh, just forget it!” By the time the assistant hits the right spot, the itch has packed its bags and left. Lost opportunity for a moment of bliss.
So what do you do if you don’t have anybody around to help? That’s when the corners of your house become your best friends. We’ve all done the shimmy-shake against a wall like a desperate bear in mating season.
Cattle do it too – they find a post and lean into it with the commitment of someone who finally found the exact right spot. Dogs? They just roll onto their backs and wiggle like they’re summoning spirits. Animals just find a way.
We’ve all experienced the itch you can’t scratch politely. I’m talking about the thigh itch or the butt cheek itch. The one that hits while wearing jeans, so you grab the denim and try to rub the itch through the fabric as if that’s going to do anything. It never works. It just keeps coming back like a toddler asking for snacks.
This kind of itch demands immediate skin-to-skin contact. The kind where you do that subtle-but-not-subtle maneuver where you pretend to adjust your waistband while actually sneaking your hand down your leg like a racoon looking for treasure.
Come on – admit it.
We’ve all done it.
I did it just the other day playing pickleball with 3 other women. No matter how many times I tried to scratch it through my athletic pants, it wouldn’t stop. And because it was just women present, I called a timeout, set my paddle down, excused myself, and slipped my hand down my pants to tackle it.
Deep sigh… Mission accomplished.
And then there’s the itch you can’t find. I know that sounds unhinged, but here we are. I’ll go to scratch an itch and… nothing. No relief. It just keeps itching like, “Warmer… colder… nope, not there either.” How does an itch you swear is on the inside of your thigh end up being on your head? Are my nerve ways playing hopscotch? It feels like my body is running a practical joke on me: “Guess where the itch is! Wrong again!”
Then there’s the bottom of the foot itch. The one that hits when you’re in public and can’t take your shoe off, so you start stomping your foot like you’re trying to squash a ghost spider only you can see.
If I’m driving and get a bottom of the foot itch? Cruise control on. Shoe off. Game on.
But scratching the bottom of a foot never quite works – the skin is too thick, too calloused, or too ticklish. Last time it happened at home, I grabbed the cat brush and went to town like a woman possessed.
Then there’s the nighttime itch. I don’t know why, but a few minutes after I get into bed, my arms suddenly remember they exist and start itching like they’re auditioning for a rash commercial. Don’t tell me it’s bed bugs. Don’t suggest fragrance free detergent. That’s not it.
The more I scratch, the more they itch. Then my legs join the party. I lie there debating whether lotion is worth getting out of bed for. It always is. But I resent getting up.
Have you ever had a cold, and the roof of your mouth itches? And you actually stick your finger in there and scratch it? That’s a whole different level of weirdly satisfying.
Honestly, I’ve never given itching this much thought until today. Itches just happen. We scratch them without thinking. Every exterior part of the human body eventually itches – eyes, ears, nose, everything.
We appreciate a lot of things. We thank God for a lot of things. We try to be grateful. But have you ever stopped and thought about what it would be like to have that kind of unbearable itch… and no arms?
The next time I get one of those sudden, urgent, drop-everything-it’s-an-emergency itches, I’m going to stop and thank the good Lord that I have the means to scratch it.
I have arms.
I have hands.
I have fingers.
Most of us do. But some don’t. Some are born without them. Some have paralysis that steals the ability to reach.
For them, something as small as an itch might be its own little hell. I know it would be for me.
So here’s to the everyday miracles we forget we’re living inside of. Here’s to the tiny miracles we don’t notice until they’re gone. Here’s to the ability to scratch the itch – literal or otherwise.
And here’s the toast:
May we never take for granted the simple gifts – the reach of our own arms, the relief of a good scratch, and the grace to remember those who live without what we assume is guaranteed.
To gratitude, to empathy, and to every itch we’re lucky enough to scratch. And may that sweet toddler with no limbs be spared the misery of a full-body itchy rash – that would just be cruel.
Cheers!
