A Spoonful of Sugar?

By Sheilah

No he won’t take it in a cup, no he won’t take it on the moon, no he won’t take it at noon, no he won’t take it on a spoon. Dylan won’t touch the stuff—cough syrup will never pass his lips. He cringes at the thought. Not a drop. He won’t do it to save his skin, or his sore throat and cough. I’ve tried every brand over the years, and they all make him gag and throw it back up. See that purple spot? 2007, it was a good year. Orange over there? The year of Delsym. Don’t even mention “thin strips” lest we throw up in our mouths a little bit.

About once a year when he gets a cold we’re out of luck. We go old school: rest, water, vitamins, soup, fruits, veggies, Vick’s vapor rub is all we can do. He’ll happily swallow a pill, so when he got old enough the doc said Tylenol would work. But no cough drops or medicine-laced lollipops. He will take a squirt of nose spray occasionally. But one thing’s for sure—he will never be an addict. This is good news.

He just coughs up and out his cold, like we’re supposed to, like the cave men did. I kept him home from school two days last week because of the nasty phlegmy cough and sore throat. If he’d taken cough syrup, he could have gone to school, could have slept more soundly. Oh well.

We watched a few movies and got lots of reading in and played cards and built Legos and colored in Shel Silverstein’s poem pictures. It was a blast having him at home as a captive audience, not a moving target. I so enjoyed my cuddle time. One day he’ll swallow what’s good for him, and then he’ll be gone from me, at school with the others masking their symptoms. Darn.