When the girls were born, they developed severe reflux which made them basically projectile vomit a large portion of what they drank. There was a special procedure you had to learn in order to feed them. This involved them eating sitting up on your knee and having to be burped every X amount of ounces. They absolutely could not drink more until they burped which led to them screaming for more while you beat on their little backs and changed positions a billion times until they gave up the coveted "URP." Oh yeah and they had to take medicine every three hours- Zantac and Reglan. Oh yeah and they each used about (not exaggerating) 12+ bibs each per day plus tons of blankies and burp rags. Oh yeah and they had to have copious amounts of rice in their formula to make it thick so it would stay down, some at least. (At this point all breastfeeding Nazis gasp in horror that my children were on formula not breastmilk for pete's sake. Put down the breast pump and listen, before you snatch my motherhood license: 1. It ain't yo business. 2. I don't criticize anybody for the choices they make with their own children. As I have mentioned, I am extremely nonjudgemental when it comes to stuff like that so don't go telling me my kids are going to have low IQs because they drank Similac Advance instead of Mommy Moomoo, as my sister calls it. 3. I never ever got any breastmilk. That's right, nada. The lactation chick at the hospital came in and gave me the whole speech about how Breast is best yadayadayadayada All hail the mighty teat blahblahblah Even though your kids are in the NICU they can still get your milk etc etc etc etc. Then she threatened me that if I didn't pump, my milk would come in any second and I would be in total agony anyway so you might as well get it over with. OK ALREADY. I tried the hand pump. Nada. Counseling with pump. Zero. Electric pump that looks like something they took out of a primitive Wisconsin dairy barn. Nothing. More advice positions, relax etc. Nope. Blood, agonizing ripped nips, tender throbbing boobies over and over. Nothing. Try again later. No. Try again tomorrow. Goose egg. So no milky for Monkey Mama. And I never got any, not even a little leakage, ever. What's up with that? Yes I was jealous of all the other moms coming in the nursery waving their little breast milk pouches like flags on Independence Day. )

Enough ranting, the point I was starting with was, they were totally into taking their little dropperfuls of medicines like little baby birds in a nest. No problemo. Then they were finally off the medicines (THANK YOU LORD JESUS) and they would still take something you gave them like flouride, Tylenol, etc. At some point however, they were told by the baby underground that, man it ain't cool to take your medicine so good like that, you gotta fight it like a crazy monkey. And so they started.

I have tried every trick in the book to get the medicine in 'em when mandatory. "Mmmmmm yummy Mommy looooves it! You try it!" "Oh yeah it's deelicious yumyum juice you better get some before it's gone!" "Oh boy look it's in a special cup for big girls!" "Oh this tastes even better when it's on a spoon huh Grandma?" (force mother to taste medicine and act excited) Much screaming, crying, flailing of limbs and general resistance ensues. Of course experienced medicine givers want to advise you- "Give it with a spoonful of sugar." WHAT?!! No. "Mix it with Coke" Is you crazy?! I've tried it with juice, applesauce, everything. I get sooo frustrated and ticked off. Two kids here, doing what the other one does. She doesn't like it, I sure don't. Moody. One dose, kid takes it no prob. Next time, same kid spits red dye #4049304 on new white shirt.

Tonight was the latest sneakiest trick of all. They HAD to take this cough medicine before bed. I admit it tastes like gasoline mixed with brussel sprouts. Mix with juice? No go. Mix with juice and Splenda? You ain't trickin nobody. Let them drink with straw like a big girl? Ixnay after taste hits tongue. Mother at extreme meltdown point. One child racing around shouting, the other in corner with Mr. Lambykins, head down, butt in air, crying. Then, a stroke of pure genius.

I remembered I had made the mistake of buying the (100% juice) CapriSun pouches which the monkeys squeezed and squirted all over the place, then hid the remainder of the box in the back of the pantry. First, I dug two out of the closet and carefully poked the straw in the hole, then choked about 2/3 of the juice out into the sink, releasing some of my frustration. I carefully drew up 1/2 tsp of the evil elixir in a medicine syringe with a narrow tip. I gingerly inserted the syringe into the Capri Sun exit wound and squeezed the drugs in. Swished around to combine. Put straw back in, repeated procedure. "Wow girls look what Mommy has for you, big girl juices WITH STRAWS!" Mmmm mmmm good! (Girls suck down juice, mother collapses in exhaustion. They climb on her and smooch her, covering her with sticky liquid. She does not care at all.)