Every couple of years there is a cosmic shift, usually when one of the children falls ill.

This week, almost immediately following Chloe’s tonsillitis diagnosis it happened.

She awoke from an interrupted nap and Mommy could not console her. I tried rocking her in her chair, letting her play with her Scotiabank hockey team collectable bank that sits proudly on her dresser along with a crocheted doll from her Great Grandma and neither of these typically off-limits items now well within her grasp worked.

I thought she might be reacting to the gooey, pink medicine when she threw a fit on the floor, slamming her head down, tears rolling down her cheeks and when she had the opportunity, she attempted to hit my face while yelling, “Mamamamamamamamama!” This, I did not expect.

I called Greg in for back-up as I had never seen this type of behaviour from our kids after consuming antibiotics. If anything, our kids rolled over like tranquilized apes and fell asleep soundly after their first dose.

She shoved me aside and nuzzled into Greg’s chest still convulsing from her tantrum and looked at me in disgust. With each step I inched closer, she groaned and eventually swung her sharp-nailed fingers (why do I always forget to trim them?) swiping my nose and furiously star-fishing her body into a solid block, limbs outstretched, middle fingers too.

She pointed at his iphone. She wanted videos of her sisters dancing at Disney dressed as Cinderella and Jasmine and she wanted them now.

She wanted Daddy to feed her some water. She wanted Daddy to wash her tear-stained face. She wanted Daddy (who has changed her diaper twice in fifteen months) to whisper “everything is going to be okay.”

She wanted Mommy to shove her head in the sand.