So CootieBoy’s fever is way down, but when I got home he was feeling a bit warm. After dinner I informed him that he needed to take medicine. With tears and covering of the mouth, he protested. I freely admit I attempted to bribe him, offering two treats if he took his medicine. He promptly volunteered to go potty instead to win the treats. When I told him the treats were ONLY for taking medicine, he began the meltdown again.
When negotiations completely broke down, we resorted to our last ditch solution: Denis pins him down while I force the medicine down his throat. That didn’t work, so I told him I was taking him to the doctor. I’m sure Denis thought I was merely bluffing (and I’m sure CootieBoy thought so too), but I loaded him up (sans pants, socks and shoes since all he wore at the time was a shirt and a pullup) into the car.
At this point I seriously thought just turning on the engine would be enough to get him to take the medicine – after all, he HATES going to the doctor. But nothing doing – he wouldn’t take the medicine. So I drove down the block. Still would take it. Outskirts of our neighborhood. Nothing doing.
So, knowing I had to go to Harris Teeter anyway (and now regretting putting him in the car sans pants, socks and shoes), we went to the store. I turned in the movie from last night and got my $14 refund on the dog food. By now CootieBoy was thoroughly confused, wondering if the doctor was in the store. But no – back in the car we went. By now it was 7:50 p.m., and I drove to Baxter to find the urgent care center which I knew was in that community. I had to stop for directions which delayed me by a couple more minutes.
I pulled up to the urgent care at 8:05 p.m. Turns out I parked in the “front” but that wasn’t the entrance. So I put the boy back in the car and drove around to the back to find out that the urgent care center closed at 8:00 p.m. In fact, as I pulled around to the back a guy came out the side door and got into his car.
Now I was just ticked. I put CootieBoy back in his car seat and drove him home. When we arrived home I told him to go straight up to his room. He protested, so I picked him up, took him upstairs, put him on his bed, turned out his light and closed the door behind me as I left the room. He got up and came out of his room. I quickly put him back in and closed the door, this time holding the doorknob so he couldn’t open the door. He tried, and through the door I said, “Are you going to take your medicine?”
“Yes,” he said with a shuddering cry.
I opened the door, and I could tell he wasn’t going to take the medicine. So I told him to get back on his bed, which he did. I closed the door again, once again holding the doorknob. This time, when he approached the door, I asked again. “You going to take your medicine?”
I opened the door and directed him to the bathroom. He walked in, I picked up the plastic dropper, and he became compliant and opened his mouth.
And what gets me. What GETS me. Is that as soon as he took it – after over an hour of fighting and driving and frustration – he said, “Mmm…that tastes like strawberry PopTarts!”
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