Spring has sprung down here in Tejas. I know because the temps are ranging from the high 40s in the morning shade to the high 80s by afternoon. And if we didn’t need a complete wardrobe change every two hours to accommodate the wildly swinging temperature outside, we’d need it to shake off the electric green pollen that has coated everything from cars to driveways to patio cushions. I carried in the cushions from the patio furniture before a big line of storms blew through, only to find the arm that had been carrying the cushions covered in hives from contact with so much potent pollen!
Of course, we – all three of us – are enjoying the more common “fun” effects of pollen, too. We’re sniffling and sneezing our way through all the greenery. Gracie might have it worst, followed by yours truly. Bee-girl isn’t immune, though she is rather adverse to taking anything for her symptoms. She might ask to use her nose spray, but that’s about it. She hates taking allergy pills…mostly because she can’t. I’ve tried every trick I know to teach her how to swallow pills, without any success. She can’t swallow. Or she’ll gag. Or we’ll think she’s swallowed the pill, only to make a rather (ahem) sudden reappearance a few minutes later.
Bee’s always been like this. It’s nothing new. She couldn’t eat spaghetti until she was four because it would make her gag. It took forever for me to make her baby cereal that wasn’t as runny as formula – any texture meant the food was a no go! Foods were introduced incredibly slowly and much later than was typically recommended. Hey, once you’d lived with the kid for any length of time, you learned to trust her alien gag reflex. Once it was activated, it wasn’t shutting itself off. I could let that toddler scream it out with the best of them, I would refuse to let her out of bed for anything, I knew when she was just trying to use the potty as an excuse to get out of bedtime for two more minutes, but any time she said she had a hair in her mouth, I was by her side in a flash, escorting her to the bathroom for a drink of water until she declared the hair was gone. Any other reaction meant she would start gagging and then throw up…wherever she happened to be standing, sitting, or lying down.
Which is why I have to pinkie promise that any allergy pill I offer Bee is a meltable one. Anything else won’t do! I long since gave up on the battle. There are some that just aren’t worth fighting. So I was overjoyed when Bee-girl first asked for an allergy pill the other night, and then told me it could be one she had to swallow. “I can do it now!” she told me. “I raced Gracie at Dad’s house! …And I WON!” she trilled. So I got her a plain, old, ordinary Zyrtec and watched her match actions to words.
I still haven’t gotten over the Easter miracle!
This isn’t to say I won’t still have kids’ dosage meltable medications in every shape and size. I know the moment I count on Bee’s new superpower will be the moment it disappears. Maybe, if she’s lucky, I might admit her trick is here to stay about the time she goes off to college. Maybe. In the meantime, I’ll take any progress I can get!