KeflexHead

You don't need to go ask Alice; you can simply go ask Pie. That's right, my beautiful, smart, spunky daughter is destined to grow up and be a junkie. And her big brother isn't going to be too far behind her.

About three weeks or so, Pie came down with impetigo. The doctor prescribed a medicine, and told me, "Most kids don't like the taste of this one. You can always mix it in a teaspoon of strawberry jelly or something to help Pie get it all down."

Did we really need to worry about that? I don't think so. Because the minute Pie saw that luscious pink liquid, she couldn't get enough. About six times a day, Pie would beg me, "Medicine? Medicine? Medicine!!!" It replaced the cry for Ming Ming. (Side note: Pie was happily reading books in the arm chair in the living room yesterday morning, when she spotted me all showered after boot camp, coming down the stairs. She looked up, smiled, and said, "Oh, Ming Ming time!" She placed her books on the end table and patted the chair next to her. Do you think it's time to wean? Because I FREAKIN' do!)

Anyway, much distress was caused when Pie's rash went away and we were "all done medicine." Oh, how she missed her medicine. So much so, that I'm pretty sure that this is the conversation that must have ensued between Typhoid Pie and Doodles before the rash was completely gone.

Pie: You know, that medicine is really tasty.
Doodles: I wish I could have medicine!
Pie: I wish I could have medicine all the time!
Doodles: It looked really yummy.
Pie: Say, I have an idea. Here, rub your body all over my rash. Then you can get it too and you'll get medicine!
Doodles: What a great idea!
Pie: And maybe, then, you can give it back to me so I can have the medicine again.
Doodles: Absolutely! One good turn deserves another.

Yep. Pie gave her impetigo to Doodles last week. And Doodles has returned the favor in spades, giving not only Pie her impetigo back, but very kindly sharing it with me as well (the doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I asked if my antibiotics were going to be pink, too).

So now, we have a little chorus upon awakening in the morning: "Medicine, mom! Medicine! It's time for me and Pie to have our medicine!" "Medicine, medicine, medicine, medicine, medicine, medicine, medicine!"

Pie opens her little mouth like a baby seal and sucks every last drop out of the syringe and then licks her lips in satisfaction. Doodles drinks his down in gulps and says, "Medicine sure is yummy! I enjoyed that!"

Today, Keflex. Tomorrow, heroin. I'm sorry, Pie. I didn't mean to introduce you to your gateway drug.