My youngest daughter tells me today: “I need to go to the doctor RIGHT NOW”.
“What for sweetheart?” She is skipping and happy and flushed with good health, so I’m not really concerned.
“I have the hic-wups.”
“You don’t need to see a Pediatrician for hiccups, they will go away on their own.”
“Then I need to see da dentist. Dr. Bob is vewy nice.”
“No, you just saw Dr. Bob. You’ll see him again in six months.”
“MAMA!” she yells, “I NEED MEDICINE!”
I’m raising a drug addict. Even feeling crummy this was a girl that was SO disappointed that her strep test came out negative (“Good news! Your daughter isn’t sick!” “OH DAMN! She really wanted to get some pills” — see if that dialog exchange doesn’t get you written up as a little 'watch this mom" note in the medical folder).
My eldest, of course, is the opposite. It takes nothing short of a couple of Nurse Schwarzeneggers to get her to take anything that isn’t cheese or pasta.
It is amazing that the same set of genes colliding can produce such opposite kids