Let me tell you, the struggle to get my toddler to take his medicine has been nothing short of an Olympic event. I always knew my kids would inherit my picky palate. I mean, on my first date with Mark, I chose a diner specifically because their chicken fingers were top-notch. Salad? Tried it for the first time in my 20s. Strawberries? Yeah, that was a 2009 revelation.
Eventually, I learned to expand my culinary horizons—Brussels sprouts are now a personal favorite of mine. But when it comes to grape-flavored liquid medicine, I still can’t wrap my brain around it. So, I can’t blame my son for acting like I’m offering him a potion from a horror movie whenever I present him with that stuff.
When he was a baby, administering medicine was a breeze. Just lay him back, pop the syringe in, and voila! Mission accomplished. But as he grew more independent and aware of his surroundings, I quickly realized I needed to rethink my approach. Enter bribery. I never pictured myself as a parent who would resort to such methods, but here we are. Promises of candy, screen time, and toys became my go-to tactics.
But kids are sick way too often. I couldn’t keep emptying the piggy bank on candy and toys just to get some medicine down his throat. Time for a new strategy.
I tried being authoritative: “You must take this medicine. No getting up until you do.” That resulted in a two-hour standoff with nothing to show for it. Then I attempted a gentler approach: “Sweetie, this medicine is important. Let’s cuddle first.” He sensed my hesitance and clamped his lips shut tighter than a vault.
I even resorted to fabrications, claiming, “This is like liquid candy, buddy! So delicious!” But he wasn’t falling for any of it. How is it fair that kids can outsmart us before we’re even dealing with menopause?
Feeling defeated, I thought my son would never take his medicine. I’d be the mother of a perpetually sick kid, with a nose that could double as a water fountain. But then, inspiration struck.
I set the scene with a cookie, some juice, and that dreaded cup of medicine. I leveled with him: “This medicine is gross, but this juice is delicious, and this cookie is amazing. We can do this!”
Suddenly, I was transported back to high school parties, where cheap drinks were masked by sugary soft drinks. My hands began to tap on the table, creating a rhythm. He looked puzzled, but I flashed him an encouraging grin, and soon, we were both drumming and laughing.
“Alright, champ. You’re going to take that medicine, drink your juice, and shove that cookie in your mouth. And then it’s all done!”
No fight, no fear—just a kid ready to follow his goofy mom’s lead. Sure, I might have inadvertently taught him how to take a shot at three years old, but you know what? He nailed it. He downed the medicine, chased it with juice, and devoured the cookie like a pro.
Now, I can only hope that when he turns 21, he’ll order his first drink and cheerfully request, “Juice and cookie, please.”
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In summary, getting my toddler to take medicine has been a journey of creative strategies, laughter, and a little bit of ingenuity. Sometimes, all it takes is a cookie and some juice to make the experience a little less daunting.