Annie has been a little stuffy these past few days. I think it's allergies, but you can never be certain with Annie. I'm not opposed to modern medicine, so I've given her a slew of decongestants and a bevy of antihistamine. We've also perfected the proper use of Kleenex. It's been educational for all of us.
So when she came into my bedroom this morning at 5:00, my first "amazing mother" instinct was to tell her to go back to bed. This caused her to cry a little, cough, and then explain, "but bobbie, I need bedicine." Since the "bedicine" was downstairs, I wanted to stave off getting out of my warm bed for a few moments longer. I suggested that maybe she needed to blow her nose. "No bobbie, I need bedicine," she said.
Me: Blow your nose first, then I'll get you some medicine.
Her: But bedicine bakes be feel better than blowing by nose!
Me: Well, I'm not getting you any medicine until you blow your nose a few times.
Her: Bobbbbbieeeee! (whine, cough, cough, sputter, cough, fwwwaack, bleegh - while the full contents of her nose splatters my face).
Me:
Her: Dow can I hab somb bedicine?
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1 comment:
i, too, always seem to get punished for wanting to stay in bed a little longer. not necessarily with a face-full of mucus, but always in some ironically karmic way.
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