Payback

I wonder if last night about midnight, my mom sat straight up in her sleep and started laughing. After dealing all day with Patrick's best imitation of a spit-up fountain, I had to attempt to administer his acid reflux medicine, which is supposed to slow that fountain to a mere trickle. It's usually easier at night when he has been sleeping for a little while because I can catch him off guard. Last night, the tactic didn't work. He kept trying to squirm away from me, turning his head away from the medicine and closing his mouth tightly. About the time I realized I was being forced to wrestle my 13 1/2 pound baby just to give him medicine, I remembered some stories from my childhood. Apparently my son takes after me in all the ways I wish he wouldn't. I went through burp rags more quickly than diapers too, and it seems that by the time I was Patrick's age it took both my parents to wrestle me whenever I needed medicine. I can imagine my mother raining down curses on me through gritted teeth during those ordeals: "Just wait until you have one just like you!" As that curse came to life last night, she must have felt the power of her words over all those miles and smiled at the sweet taste of revenge.