Hint: definitely not "neat."
  1. Finds out she needs to take a ten-day course of Bactrim. Bursts into tears.
  2. Accompanies me to Walgreens in order to pick up prescription. Requests a new package of mechanical pencils + a bag of Wint-O-Green Lifesavers in order to "help her not be so nervous about taking the medicine." Tries to throw in a stuffed owl but mama is NOT HAVING IT.
  3. Arrives home, follows me around the house for a few minutes telling me every single detail of every single thing that has happened in her day. I recognize this as a combination of nerves and staving off the inevitable, but only because I do it, too.
  4. Retreats to bedroom to "relax before taking her medicine."
  5. When confronted with an impending bedtime, says she'll take the medicine "in a few minutes."
  6. When the medicine shows up in a syringe, in my hand, wails, "I said not ye-et!"
  7. When told that taking the medicine is not optional, that we have to swallow every last drop in the bottle if we want to get better and stay better, there are fresh tears.
  8. "Fine," she says. "But only if I can do it alone, in the bathroom, without all this pressure!"
  9. Then, from the bathroom, "Well it would be nice if you came in here and gave me some support!"
  10. "And while you're in here, could you sing a song? Like a Christmas song, to get my mind off what I'm about to do?"
  11. I begin with "Up On The Housetop."
  12. "TOO FAST, MOMMY!"
  13. I continue on, switching to "What Child is This?"
  14. Progress. Teeny sips of medicine followed by teeny sips of water, back and forth between the syringe and her favorite mug with the W on it, all while I continue to sing.
  15. At this rate it will only take 45 minutes for her to ingest three teaspoons. 💯
  16. Then, "Do you think you could do Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes?"
  17. 😭