“Oh, poor me, I have to give my kid eyedrops!”, I said, melodramatically in yesterday’s post, having not actually attempted it yet. “It will probably be hard!”

I have never underestimated the magnitude of anything so much in my life.

Bug screamed so much when we tried to give him his drops that he threw up on me. He clamped his eyelids shut with such force that veins were popping out of his eyelids and neck. It took both me and Lorso to pin him down and pry his eyes open, and 15 minutes later, when we finally accomplished our mission, he sobbed and sobbed, clinging desperately to my neck. I rocked him like I used to when he was an infant in our glider until he fell asleep, vomit residue still in his mouth, and hair still wet and uncombed from his bath.

I think I still haven’t recovered from the trauma.

But he woke up in a good mood, and even talked solemnly about the medicine he was going to have to have again this morning, ending his discussion with a somber, “I’m ready to take my medicine now, Daddy.”

But it was the same thing all over again (sans vomit, thank goodness).

My brother and sister kept him for me today so that I could save one of my sick days and go to work. So I hope that my kidneys don’t ever decide to conk out, because I think there are a few favors that are considered Trump Favors, meaning once someone’s done that favor for you, they are no longer contractually obligated to do anything else for you, ever. Like give you one of their kidneys. Or, say, be a surrogate mother for you. Or give your kid eyedrops. And now I’ve used that one up on both of them.

Damn, they would probably have been good matches, too.