Like this:

Will pay top dollah.

Ok, for egads sake now, Little Man needs a Hazmat. Or at least a bubble. I’m so fecking sick of my child being sick.

He’s got an ear infection. Didn’t see that one coming. He hasn’t had one of these for a couple of years now, I think. It’s usually a chest infection or pneumonia or something along those lines.

Know what happens when your kid has an ear infection? I’ll tell you. Antibiotics. That’s what happens. And, you know what happens when you have a child with Sensory Processing Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder who’s EXTREMELY orally defensive?

WHAT??!!!! You don’t know?!! Consider yourself blessed. OH, and somewhat less vomit-coated.

Little Man is allergic to ariththromycins (Azithromycin, Biaxin). That limits the doc’s choices. I’ve FINALLY been able to convince our family doc that liquid, banana-flavoured, cherry-flavoured, disgusting-excuse-for-fruity-flavouring-flavoured shit is useless. I’ve had that spit out at me enough times that I simply refuse to even leave the pharmacy with it. Doc gave me a script yesterday for pills and instructions to crush them and dissolve the powder in Little Man’s drink.

Riiiiiiiiiggggghhhhhhhttttttttt……..

‘Cause that’s gonna work like a fecking charm bracelet.

I put the powder (only a 1/4 of a pill’s worth, meaning 1/8th of a day’s worth) in his drink when we got home yesterday from the pharmacy. Little Man took a swig of his drink (not knowing about the meds), proceeded to look at me with that WhatTheFeckAreYouTryingToPutPastMeThisTimeYouFeckingSorryExcuseForAMother face, told me it tasted disgusting and that I tried to give him medecine.

Being the (apparent) fecking idiot that I am, I lied. Like, duh. Of course there’s no medecine in there Sherlock.

He showed me.

Fecking vomit on my family room carpet. Huge amounts of it. (What the FECK is WITH that? Isn’t his stomach supposed to be the size of his fist or something small like that?) Dooooooods, this vomit could have kept a small country in Africa hydrated for at least a year, for shiz. What the bullshitty feck?

You have to understand: I don’t do vomit. I don’t vomit, I don’t go within 50 feet of vomit, I don’t clean up vomit, I gag when I do the laundry that results from vomit. Let’s just say that I’ll never become bulimic like, evah. Vomit is Hubs’ dealio, doooooods.

I had to do it. Hubs wasn’t due home for another hour and the smell was killing me. I kind of threw a towel in Little Man’s general direction with a (go ahead and report me for being a shitty mother, get in line) comment about vomit being strictly limited to the hours when Hubs is home and HowCouldYouPossiblyForgetThisRuleBecauseIt’sRightFeckingHere,WrittenInStone, or something like that.

2 Rolls of paper towel and an entire bottle of Spot Shot later, and there’s still a telltale stain on the carpet. I’m sweating like hell, holding my breath and scrubbling while waiting for God (Satan?) to come and kick me in the fat ass while I’m down there ’cause that seems to be the theme these days, and Little Man says, “Mommy, don’t you DARE try to give me any more medecine. You’ll regret it even more than you regret this. I promise.”

WHA. THE. FECK?

I’m so done-in and so outsmarted.

So I sat there and cried. Then I took 2 Xannies and sat in the corner of the couch, rocking baaack and forth, baaack and forth…

It’s 24 hours later and he still has no meds in him. I have nothing left. My will to prevail has been sucked out of me and replaced by gobbledeegoop and resignation.

Sigh.

And how are you, my lovelies?

Kia

P.S. To the WordPress users, wtf is up with replying to comments these days? I used to just hit reply when I received the email notifying me of a new comment. Now when I do that, it gives me some freaky wordpress address and I don’t think any of my commenters are getting the replies? Do I need to change a setting or something?