Yesterday I had lunch with my friend L.  My friend L. has two-year-old, asthmatic twin boys.  As she told me about the breathing treatments she must administer to one, sometimes two boys, sometimes four times a day, I felt myself feeling a little bit red-faced.  I whine and complain when we have to dose the little angel with Augmentin twice a day for her recurring ear infections, even though at this point she dutifully opens her mouth like a little baby bird awaiting its mama's worm gift.

L. feels bad because she might, MIGHT just be complaining just an itsy-witsy bit about having to do this thing.  Even though it's for her children's health.  Hello?  I can't stand to take my own, normal, swallowable medicine four times a day (if I must - not normally).  I can't imagine having to hold down a two-year-old for anything, let alone some weird, scary mask contraption.  Is this a cause for complaint?  YES!  Is this something you have to do?  YES!  BUT YOU MUST COMPLAIN TO YOUR OTHER FRIENDS!  It is right here in my Mama Handbook on p. 12, Article XIII, Section 3:  "Administering medicine to children is not fun.  Make it look fun while you are doing it, tell them how very, very fun medicine is, then go in the bathroom and do a shot of tequila before re-entering the living room."  So there you have it.  If mamas do not complain a little bit, they might repress enough to force their children to marry their friends' children, and then all the children will run away and live under viaducts near a stain that looks like the Blessed Mother by the time they are 16.

I know three twin mamas, and they are all my idols.  I struggle along as it is with my own little angel.  I have even talked about not having more angels, just because I sometimes am not sure exactly what to do with the one I have.  Now, did these people choose twins?  Does anyone?  Maybe they do.  There is something extremely cool about twins.  I wanted to be one when I was going through my Sweet Valley High phase. But while twins might be really neat when they are sixteen years old and a perfect size six, I bet they were hard to dose with antibiotics or breathing treatments when they were two.  I bet it is even really hard to feed both of them or bathe both of them without sort of wanting to shove flaming toothpicks under your fingernails.

So, L. and other twin mamas, I raise my shot of tequila to you.  I'm in the bathroom right now.