Can’t Have Too Much ‘Tussin
1:30 a.m. Cam awakens in a coughing fit. She hasn’t been able to doze off for more than 15 minute stretches without her body throwing her into a coughing frenzy. She’s hacking like a career smoker.
Kris comes to the rescue, bottle of Dimetapp in hand. You know the stuff, the sweet elixir, the cascade of berries, the sticky, syrupy potion of goodness Mom always had close by. Cam sucks down a teaspoon and a half, and her coughing quickly calms.
Just before I resume my slumber, I hear. “Oh shit. Oh no. Greg. Oh shit. Oh crap. Greg!”
Annoyed, I answer “Yes, my tulip in the sea of tranquility.” (Which sounded more like “WHAT!?!”)
I gave her adult Robitussin, not the kid stuff.
That’ll clear her up.
I’m serious! I gave her triple the dosage!
She’ll be fine, down a few brain cells, but fine.
What should I do?
Worry.
What if she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up?
Worst thing that’ll happen, she’ll trip for an hour.”
We wound up waking my father, who is a pharmacist, and I spelled the ingredients to him on the phone.
P-H-E
Pheasantonastick?
Yeah, that’s it.
Ok. Don’t worry about that stuff.
G-O-N
Gonnarehainmypants?
Yeah.
That’s no big deal.
T-R-U
Trumpshaironfire?
Yeah.
Oh. Well, she’s probably going to be a little wired.
And she was. She was all coked-up, talking and talking. Pointing. Spinning stories. Telling us her hands were dirty. The coughing fits were over, but sound kept coming out of her mouth.
Kris comes to the rescue, bottle of Dimetapp in hand. You know the stuff, the sweet elixir, the cascade of berries, the sticky, syrupy potion of goodness Mom always had close by. Cam sucks down a teaspoon and a half, and her coughing quickly calms.
Just before I resume my slumber, I hear. “Oh shit. Oh no. Greg. Oh shit. Oh crap. Greg!”
Annoyed, I answer “Yes, my tulip in the sea of tranquility.” (Which sounded more like “WHAT!?!”)
I gave her adult Robitussin, not the kid stuff.
That’ll clear her up.
I’m serious! I gave her triple the dosage!
She’ll be fine, down a few brain cells, but fine.
What should I do?
Worry.
What if she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up?
Worst thing that’ll happen, she’ll trip for an hour.”
We wound up waking my father, who is a pharmacist, and I spelled the ingredients to him on the phone.
P-H-E
Pheasantonastick?
Yeah, that’s it.
Ok. Don’t worry about that stuff.
G-O-N
Gonnarehainmypants?
Yeah.
That’s no big deal.
T-R-U
Trumpshaironfire?
Yeah.
Oh. Well, she’s probably going to be a little wired.
And she was. She was all coked-up, talking and talking. Pointing. Spinning stories. Telling us her hands were dirty. The coughing fits were over, but sound kept coming out of her mouth.
posted by Greg Monaco at 9:48 AM
3 Comments:
You forgot to mention the 18 hour day Kris had that started at 5am and ended at 11pm. You forgot to mention that you didn't move a muscle to help your daughter when you knew how tired your wife was. You forgot to mention that Kris stayed up all night listening to her daughter breathe to be sure she was ok.
The next time you decide to air your dirty laundry make sure it's your own. Oh that's right... you don't do your own laundry.
Laundry is ladies work. So is tending to the youngins.
Jesus Freaks
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