A New Battle to Wage

My daughter has pink eye. At least I am 99% certain she has pink eye. Her eye is red, she is complaining incessantly that it hurts, and it is oozing slimy yellow "goop" (please pardon my ignorance of proper medical terms, but I think "goop" is sufficiently descriptive). As if all of our recent strep tests were not enough of a workout with Sophie, now we get to put drops in her eyes. At least a strep test was followed by tasty pink medicine that Sophie wanted to continue taking well past her 10-day course. A diagnosis of pink eye is followed by foreign, strange-feeling drops inserted in the eye FOUR TIMES a day.

Sophie has had pink eye once in the past. To be perfectly honest, I believe that my subconscious, in an attempt to preserve my sanity and protect my conscious being from the ravages of a horrifying memory, has completely erased the memory of Sophie's bout with pink eye. I have difficulty recalling the actual insertion of drops in Sophie's eyes. I vaguely remember fighting with her about it, but the details are sketchy. I can only imagine how it will go down though.

My daughter is a skinny little thing...only weighs about 35 pounds soaking wet. However, she has the fight of a raging bull. Actually, a bull is an incorrect analogy. I prefer to liken her to a wet cat. She is sinewy and quick. All arms and legs and claws. Trying to get her to do something she does not want to do, such as putting eye drops in her eyes, is a recipe for disaster. She does not hesitate to fight physically....and fight dirty. She can create a ruckus and rumble to rival any WWF wrestler. I anticipate many cringe-worthy moments in the upcoming days. My patience will be tested. I will have to summon every maternal skill I have accumulated in the last almost eight years to outsmart the beast that is my daughter. I may win the war, but I anticipate that my battle scars will be felt for some time to come. Wish me luck!