Kids, Drugs & Kicking 'n' Screaming

Take tantrums two times per day. Side effects may vary.

I drug my children.

I’m not proud of it. It wasn’t the first vision I had of parenting when we printed our first ultrasound. And I truly feel guilty every time, even though I have reached full-on desperation mode. Fevers, coughs, rashes, ear infections. The kids have turned into snot-oozing, germ-infested goblins. Eating any semblance of healthy food is not happening and even drinking the most sugary, synthetic juices is a struggle. They are grumpy at a grand scale, can’t sleep and only want to watch the most annoying child Russian YouTubers.

Of course, the logical move for most humans is leveraging mankind’s biotechnical advances to administer medicine to, you know, get better. But try explaining this to a 3-year-old. “Mr. Medicine wants to ride the airplane into your belly to make mean Mrs. Cough go away.” My kid looks like she wants to kick my teeth in and steal the car to find another family. I am quite literally the most frightened I have ever been holding 5-10 milliliters (depending on the dosage) of some bubble gum substance in front of a kid who still has to use blunt scissors.

I try the little syringe thing. I try the teeny cup. I try a spoon. My child turns into Dikembe Mutombo in the lane with a sky-high block in the third row. I distract her to mix the medicine into apple juice. She immediately senses something is awry after the first sip and chucks it. Same with the apple sauce and jello. I bargain, I beg. I offer up ice cream, cookies and candy. I have a college degree and am an expert at weeknight Jeopardy, but am a complete failure at this most simple of a task.

When I finally coax an attempt and get the medicine to their lips, they spit it all out on the floor and display a face like they’ve just tried Four Loko for the first time. Why is it that the stronger the medicine, the worse the taste? Can the FDA not approve medicine gummies? I’ve lost all hope and just yelled, “Fine. Be sick forever!” This is my lowest point.

“Fine. I’ll take the medicine. But I won’t like it and I want chocolate and cake after. And I want iPad.” I would give the kid a new G-Wagon at this point, so the negotiation seems fair. She takes the medicine with ease and I wonder where the last three hours of my life went.

“That tasted good. I like medicine!” A wave of pride washes over me and I feel like I’ve completed a successful heart transplant.

This parenting stuff is a piece of cake. Which I am now out of.