On Loving Decongestants

Ah, Benadryl, let me sing thy praises.  You swooped down on gossamer wings and blessed my little angel with eleven hours of straight sleep.  You bequeathed your good tidings upon my beloved and me, by default.  I woke up feeling like a new woman, even though I am still experiencing the lingering stomache of the passing Evil Virus.

The pediatrician recommended a teaspoon, which is the same amount of omoxicillan she gets. A teaspoon looks like an awful lot in one of those little infant syringes. I lingered outside her bedroom door after administering her dose, worrying for ten minutes or so it WAS too much, and she would be giggling her crib all night, drunk on antihistimine.  But no, she reclined on her Sealy Posterpedic-like propped-up crib mattress and bathed in a pool of her own snot all night long. Gross, but who wanted to wake her up to mop it off?  What's a little chapped skin compared to sweet, blissful sleep?