A relatively unimportant post about anti-nauseant pills and a squalling toddler who appears to be cutting his molars.
And he's sharing every minute of the experience with his parents.
My wife needs a refill on her prescription of Diclectin. The only anti-nauseant that's safe for gestating mothers and their foetuses. (Each little white pill even has a delightful pink caricature of a mommy and baby on it. Nice.)
I'm used to going to satisfy my wife's late night cravings -- the most recent being a large cup of hot chocolate from 7-11, not Tim Horton's, they're too sweet -- so going for a prescription refill is definitely a Can-Do for Daddy.
And, it being 9.30 at night, the fact that the nearest drugstore is open 'til midnight is very convenient. It being 9.30 at night, there is nobody else waiting for any sort of pill or ointment or inhaler or suppository or diabetic blood-test kit or something-just-anything to squelch the screaming colicky baby. I am the only one there.
I hand over the empty pill bottle that shows my wife has two refills left. "Uh, my wife needs a refill." Like they'd assume it was for me or something.
"Oh sure Mr. Fraser. It'll be about 15 to 20 minutes."
WTF?!
"Uh, OK," says me, and I wander off to the magasine racks to partake in the display of cover flesh that is so abundant. I flip through Men's Health and wonder if I really can get abs like that in under 30 minutes a day. I gently fondle the too-pliant surface of my own abdomen, seeking the muscles underneath and wondering what the rippling tautness would feel like on me. I hear chicks dig a six-pack. There's a liquor store across the street.
Checking the time on the display of my cell phone, it is exactly 15 minutes later when I wander back to the still-empty pharmacy counter, where hover two pharmacy-type individuals doing whatever it is that they do when it's near to 10 at night and nobody around. They certainly look busy. Having previously been to the 'Drop-Off' counter, I sidle up to the 'Pick-Up' counter. The same woman approaches me.
"Yes?"
"Uh, I'm here to pick up the Diclectin refill? For my wife?" Again, wanting to reassure her that it's definitely not for me. And I'm hurt... Have so many clamouring customers been by that you've forgotten me already?
"Oh yes, of course! Just a moment."
At which point she then starts to fill the prescription. She's apparently spent the last 15 minutes gussying up the courage to pick just the right bottle from the homogeneous wall of white plastic from behind her. I sigh. The very slight smile of tolerant patience I've come to master is in evidence.
She should have said, "It'll be 20 minutes, Mr. Fraser. Don't bother coming back in 15 since these things take time, you understand. Lots of pills here, and there are only two of us."
I'm finally able to return home to my sleeping household.
*****
Early, early in the morning, our son decides to wake up howling in anguish.
He's been doing this several nights over the past week or so. Our guess is that he's starting to cut his molars since he's not been his usual temperate self during the day. An angel with an attitude, I guess.
I get up first to rescue the boy, to find him standing, sobbing with his arms hanging over the crib rail and his favourite blanket draped over his head. Casper the miserable ghost.
Half an hour in the rocking chair and a bottle of water lull him close enough to sleep that I escape back to bed.
It's Amy's turn just over an hour later. She breaks out the baby
oragel and the teething tablets. Eventually wanders back into the room
with a still unconsoled baby.
"Is it okay if we both come in to bed?"
Thank goodness we bought a queen for the bedroom last month to replace Amy's old double.
Then this morning I find both wife and son wrapped up on the living room sofa since Declan started talking to himself and wandering around the bed.
Not wanting to wake either one with too much noise, I eschewed my shower for an extra squirt of cologne then fumbled in the dark entryway for shoes and computer bag.
I hope Dex sleeps better tonight.
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