Caring For Murphy (Skin Sensitivity)

Murphy has always had sensitive skin. From the very beginning. The kind of skin that tells a story before you have words for it, dry, reactive, asking quietly for something different. It took me time to understand that what I was seeing on the surface was only a reflection of what was happening underneath, and that caring for his skin would require me to slow down, observe more closely, and listen better.

Because he was exclusively breastfed, I learned early on that his body responded directly to mine. I began to notice patterns, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. Certain foods I consumed would pass through me and show up immediately in him. Sudden vomiting. Skin that stayed inflamed and unsettled no matter how carefully I applied creams or ointments. Even when the reactions passed, his skin never fully recovered. It remained rough, dry, uncomfortable, as if something essential was missing.

When I removed those foods from my own diet, things began to calm. Not all at once, not dramatically, but noticeably. His body softened. His reactions eased. Still, it wasn’t the full answer. I could feel it. There was more beneath the surface asking for attention.

Around that same time, I added something new into my own routine, a peptide, not for Murphy, but for myself. Pregnancy and postpartum had taken their toll on my body, my skin, my sense of vitality. I was simply trying to rebuild. I wasn’t expecting it to affect him at all. But slowly, quietly, something shifted. His skin softened in a way I hadn’t seen before. Deeply. Luxuriously. The dryness disappeared. His body finally looked comfortable in itself, as if it had found its balance again.

When I stopped taking it, the truth revealed itself without question. His skin returned to what it had been before, reactive, dry, unsettled. That was when I knew. Not as a theory. Not as a trend. But as lived proof. His body had responded to something mine was receiving.

In the meantime, I needed to support him directly, in ways that felt gentle and trustworthy. With the guidance of a dear friend, someone deeply knowledgeable when it comes to skin, I began using a simple, nourishing balm made with traditional ingredients designed to soothe, protect, and repair. It became a quiet staple in our home, something I reached for instinctively, something his skin accepted without resistance.

Winter, however, has its own demands. Cold air. Dry heat. Layers upon layers. Even with careful care, his skin struggled again. That’s when I realized something else needed to change, not what I was putting on him, but what was touching him all day long. I removed every synthetic fabric from his wardrobe. No blends. No shortcuts. Just natural fibers, soft, breathable, honest. Almost immediately, his skin responded.

Now, with this combination, attention to what passes through me, what touches him, and how his body communicates, we are close. Not perfect, but close. Close to comfort. Close to ease. Close to a body he can simply live in without friction.

Caring for Murphy’s skin has reminded me of something essential: children speak long before they have language. Their bodies tell the truth clearly and without hesitation. And when we slow down enough to listen, really listen, the answers are often already there, waiting patiently to be honored.

For the specifics, the details, the pieces I reach for, and the deeper notes, I share them more intimately in my letters.

Letters from Tenere →