Look at me! No, don’t look at the lollipop in my hair—look me in my unblinking dilated pupils. This nasty skin rash, which I probably got when Ella stuck her finger in my nose at preschool, is the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Because the doctor hooked me up with a little steroid called prednisone, street name “Pow Pow Juice,” and now I feel invincible. I’m indestructible. I’m a halfway-potty-trained God. And you will never stop pumpin’ those glorious medicine-filled plastic syringes down my throat. Got that, Mommy?
Actually, fill my Bluey water bottle with the stuff. Forget the syringes. I’m macro-dosing this junk. I can get so much done. I built a fort by flipping over the couch. I took apart my Frozen sing-along microphone and put it back together again. I finally got around to glittering the dog. I stabbed my dolly with my fairy wand for looking at me funny. I did a backflip off the table, landed on my head, got up, and just ran outside to do some laps.
