Is There a Rehab for Toddlers?
Miss A loves milk–good ole pure unleaded, whole milk, straight up, with nothing added. She usually has a night cap of milk in a sippy cup and considering we’re having some serious power struggles at bedtime, frankly if she wanted to curl up in bed with a whole gallon jug of milk I really wouldn’t care, provided it would entice her to stay put in bed and not come up with 9 million reasons to get up once I tuck her in.
Enter the devil, otherwise known as strawberry flavored milk.
I bought a bottle of strawberry flavored syrup as a treat for big sister Miss C after her recent dental appointment. She wanted chocolate milk and since she’d been such a great sport at the dentist I told her we’d get some chocolate syrup while at Target. She spotted the pink syrup bottle, however, from a mile away and exclaimed, “Oh mommy I never had pink milk before!” So in a fit of consumer impulse buying, I tossed the bottle into our little red Tarjay cart, not realizing that I would soon be dealing with the Lindsay Lohan of the toddler set once Miss A tasted strawberry milk for the first time and could not get enough of its sugary goodness.
I tried to hide the pink syrup toddler crack from Miss A but it was only a matter of time that she picked up on the fact that big sister was drinking pink milk. I let her try some and then there was no turning back. I was actually praying for the stupid bottle to be empty and considered pouring it down the sink because it’s all Miss A wanted to drink for two weeks. And then it was gone and I had to break the news to her Sunday night as we were settling down to read Goodnight Moon.
“Want strawberry milk mama!”
“It’s all gone!” I told her, secretly thankful that we could forget about it and move on with our lives.
“WANT STRAWBERRY MILK!”
“WANT STRAWBERRY MILK MAMA!”
I carried her to the kitchen to fix a plain cup of white milk and show her that, alas, the pink syrup was gone. She pushed me away, tearful and nearly in hysterics and tried to scale the inside of the refrigerator door to retrieve the ketchup bottle, hopeful that it was strawberry syrup.
I’ve created an addict. She’s asked for strawberry milk every night this week.
Learn from my mistake and don’t mess with nature.
Milk should not be pink.
