More antibiotic fun
Day 512 of the 10-day antibiotic regimen. Baby Blue has learned many interesting things -- she is quick to adapt to new situations. For example, she has learned that if she keeps her mouth very tightly shut, her parents cannot force in the hated medicine. Why? Well, because one parent hand is holding her body, another parent hand is confining her arms (otherwise she uses her wee little hands to grab the syringe and toss it across the room, trailing an arc of radioactive pink as it goes), another parental hand confines her swivelling head, and the fourth and last parental hand is holding the syringe. If only her parents had one extra hand -- or, failing that, one extra parent -- to hold that little jaw open, this technique would not be so devastatingly effective.
However, even the most determined baby must occasionally vocalize her displeasure at the injustice of this world, filled with radioactive pink medication as it is. In goes the syringe! But never fear -- all is not lost. By gargling and blowing raspberries, a baby can fight The Man, or, in this case, The Man and The Woman, by spraying them with radioactive pink droplets of medication. Leftover medication may be left to drip harmlessly down the baby's neck and torso, there to puddle on the emergency towel and the floor. That towel is so over its ear infection! (Though Baby Blue, who spent half the night nursing crankily and pulling on her ear, is apparently not over hers.)
After the morning's festivities were concluded, and Mr. Blue was gently persuaded that it was not really worth it to try suctioning for later use the medication rolling in rivulets down Baby Blue's neck, I gently cradled my pink and sticky baby. In that happy, loving singsong voice used universally by parents to tell their babies that they are about to be thrown out a window, I said, "That was not a good job, sweet Baby Blue! We are so not proud of you!"
Cuddles, and giggles of baby delight greeted this news.
LG, who would never miss an episode of Fun With Antibiotics, clapped his hands together. "Well!" he said brightly. "All's well that ends well!"
(Photographic evidence here.)
However, even the most determined baby must occasionally vocalize her displeasure at the injustice of this world, filled with radioactive pink medication as it is. In goes the syringe! But never fear -- all is not lost. By gargling and blowing raspberries, a baby can fight The Man, or, in this case, The Man and The Woman, by spraying them with radioactive pink droplets of medication. Leftover medication may be left to drip harmlessly down the baby's neck and torso, there to puddle on the emergency towel and the floor. That towel is so over its ear infection! (Though Baby Blue, who spent half the night nursing crankily and pulling on her ear, is apparently not over hers.)
After the morning's festivities were concluded, and Mr. Blue was gently persuaded that it was not really worth it to try suctioning for later use the medication rolling in rivulets down Baby Blue's neck, I gently cradled my pink and sticky baby. In that happy, loving singsong voice used universally by parents to tell their babies that they are about to be thrown out a window, I said, "That was not a good job, sweet Baby Blue! We are so not proud of you!"
Cuddles, and giggles of baby delight greeted this news.
LG, who would never miss an episode of Fun With Antibiotics, clapped his hands together. "Well!" he said brightly. "All's well that ends well!"
(Photographic evidence here.)