Take your Favorite Baby Child. Stick her in the hospital. Let the doctor take out her tonsils and adenoids.
Tease the head of anesthesia that you deserve some "Happy Gas" too. She's almost convinced when you tell her that you have teenagers. Oh, and you and your husband decide that the time spent together in the waiting room is the first couple date you've had in months. You fist bump each other and wink an I Luv You.
Within minutes of coming home, the patient starts crying as she tries to convince you she feels "totally normal" and wants to have friends over.
So, you drug her.
Because you're a Totes Ma-Goats Rock Star mom.
And a full day later, when The Favorite Baby Child is crying because the pain is so bad, you and Teenager #1 draw on her leg with marker. To try and entertain her.
Then. Oh, and then. Your girl keeps throwing up. So you decide to take her pain meds just to see what the real story is. You quickly discover said meds are the worst kind of cocktail ever. In the history of ever! You both fall asleep at 8:00 pm during fireworks.
We need a serious holiday do-over.
As soon as we can swallow properly again.
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