The Drama Continues

I know you're all out there pounding your computer screens (phone screens? what do the cool kids use these days?), shouting, "Did the Benadryl help Cubby sleep? Is Charlie following the same perilous path as his brother? How much Perry's Dark Chocolate ice cream does Kristin have on hand and will it be enough to get her through this wretched pestilence*? WE MUST KNOW."

Let's start with the bad news first, shall we? Charlie is indeed in full-on rash mode. He spent all of today either scratching his feet or guiding my hand to scratch his feet (motherhood is so glamorous). Including during his nap time, during which he did not actually nap. Instead I ended up just lying in his bed with him, rubbing his itchy feet so he would at least lie down and rest, if not actually sleep. He has it worse than Cubby. He has little blisters, the rash is more widespread, and he keeps complaining that his mouth hurts, no matter how innocuous the food he's eating.

But at least the Benadryl I gave him before bed tonight definitely knocked him right out, unlike his brother.

Which leads us nicely into . . .

Cubby's reaction to his first-ever dose of Benadryl was . . . amusing.

He took it at 6:50 last night and went to bed around 7:20. By 7:30, I was in the shower, which left A. the sole witness to the hilarity that followed.

At 7:32, Cubby appeared downstairs requesting bread and butter, which his indulgent father supplied before leading the miscreant back to bed.

At 7:40, Cubby cannonballed into the kitchen where A. had started the dishes, locked the door, "so Mommy won't catch me," and then announced happily, "Daddy, this medicine made me very lively!"

A. said it was like someone had given him speed. Cubby spent the next fifteen minutes "helping" with the dishes while ping-ponging around the kitchen. I came out of the shower sometime during this episode, but proceeded directly upstairs and so was unaware of any of this until A. came up to bed.

There was one more unauthorized escape around 8:15 p.m., and then nothing. When I went in to check on him at 9 p.m., he was so thoroughly knocked out that he didn't even wake up when I unraveled the twisted sheet from around his body and re-covered him.

So I suppose the lesson here is that if I ever want to give Cubby Benadryl again, I should make sure to do it two hours before I actually want him to sleep. And then throw him on a treadmill.

* The answer to that will always be, "Never enough."