So you know how the Acklin Army has been battling lung infections and general yuckiness for what's been close to a month, right? So you'd think I'd be all over this issue, right? Pampering and comforting and watching every minute of the clock until the next dose of medication is to be dispensed, or breathing treatment to begin? Uh, well, if I was Mother of the Year maybe.
George had a follow up appointment this morning to check on his breathing. A week ago we were at the pediatrician's office for wheezing and coughing and vomiting and the whole bit. They sent us home with a nebulizer and albuterol, with clear instructions for George to have a breathing treatment about every 6 hours, give or a take an hour or so depending on his need. And we could taper off the treatments more and more as his need for it lessened. We did well with this for a few days, the coughing didn't change much (at least it wasn't obvious to me) and life happens and we were going to this and going to that and George was feeling back to normal despite the cough, and well, eventually the treatments weren't happening at all.
So this morning at the pediatrician's office, what does my first born child who talks too much say to the doctor? I'll quote him for you. "My mom doesn't want to give me the medicine so she tells me I can't have it." Uhhhhh, em, what the, wait, what? There was an awkward silence and I said, "No, George I never said I didn't want you to take the medication. We've just been lazy about it and just haven't been doing it." (Yes, you read that right. I said WE. If he's going to throw me under the bus, he's coming with me.)
Then George chimed in and said, "No, mom, remember yesterday I asked you if I could have a breathing treatment and you said, 'no.'" Oh, wait, I vaguely remember that. I can't remember why I said that, but I do remember saying it. Embarrassed, I started to mumble a little and the doctor (finally) jumped in and said that she'd take a listen to his lungs and that maybe he wouldn't even need the breathing treatments anymore anyway (which he didn't).
At one point the doctor left the room and I quickly whispered to George, "Buddy, just let me do the talking because you're making me look like a crazy person." Soon the doctor came back into the room and took a quick look at his throat before we left. She said, "Oh, it looks like you ate something green this morning!" I wanted to quickly jump in and clarify. The scenario was this: I woke the boys up early that morning, put them in the shower, then had them brush their teeth, got the baby ready, sat her in her highchair and fed her breakfast, and asked the boys if they wouldn't mind having a quick bowl of cereal before we left for the appointment. We had two individual packages of cereal that their grandmother gave them recently as a treat. I told them that I would let them eat it since I didn't have time to do the usual eggs and toast. They agreed, ate it and drank a glass of milk. So with all this going through my mind, and after the fallout of being the mother that "don't give her baby no medicine" what did I let slip out of my mouth without thinking?
I'll quote myself for you:
I'll quote myself for you:
"Oh, yeah, that must be the Lucky Charms."
Mother of the Year, people. Mother. Of. The. Year.