I hated shots growing up. HATED them. But my mother insisted on me getting a shot of antibiotics every time I had strep throat. I used to think she was the meanest, cruelest mother in the universe for that. I begged and pleaded with her to just let me take the medicine in pill or liquid form, vowing that I’d swallow whatever disgustingly horrid flavor of medicine she could find if only I didn’t have to get a shot.
Now I understand why parents opt for shots of antibiotics when they’re offered instead of the traditional pepto-pink, bubblegum flavored option that is traditional amoxicillin.
Joshua has learned how to spit. And by spit, I don’t mean blow spit bubbles or be cute. I mean, we put something in his mouth and he spits it out. Including the medicine that will make him better.
He took the first three doses of amoxicillin like a champ and I thought, stupidly, that there’d be no problems with giving him twenty doses of this stuff.
We’ve taken to mixing the amoxicillin into his applesauce. That’s got to taste WONDEFUL.
Next time, as much as I H-A-T-E them, I’m asking if there’s a shot available to get the dosing over with more quickly, at least until he’s able to understand that the medicine will make him feel better.