When I took Ginger to the doctor, she prescribed a steroid for her cough. We dutifully began the prednisone on Wednesday night, and a second dose Thursday morning. By Thursday evening, Ginger had been replaced by her evil twin. I took a video of her screaming at me and sent it to my mom with the note, "This is why people drink." Thursday night my inlaws arrived, and on Friday morning, with just 3 teaspoons of steroids in her little body, Ginger snapped. She screamed, she kicked, she hit. She sassed and she refused to say "sorry" and "please." Curly put her in time out. In order to get out, all she had to do was tell Mommy "sorry" for screaming and being rude.
For two hours, my baby screamed and yelled and said things like, "I do NOT SAY SORRY!" By noon, I joked that she must have Roid Rage. By the Saturday evening, after enduring two days of massive temper tantrums, throwing toys and kid-size furniture, and mean talking by a 3 year old, we were convinced. We stopped giving her the medicine and waited for Ginger to come back to us.
When she laughed on Monday, the first time in days, we all rejoiced. My inlaws breathed a huge sigh of relief that their favorite grandchild was not actually possessed by the devil. Then we all agreed that I should have gone to medical school, because I rock at diagnosing.
I also rock at quilting, even though I haven't had the energy much lately. I made this for a customer and mailed it off yesterday:
So there you go. A cautionary tale about the overuse of steroids and a pretty little quilt. What more could you want on a Wednesday?