The sedative was a bitter liquid, and our wonderful nurse Karen and I had to hold Chickie down while Karen squirted the icky stuff in her mouth. The nice thing about a screaming child is that at least her mouth is, by default, open!
Once she got drowsy, Chickie decided to fight sleep with all her strength (which is considerably more Hulk-like than I'd realized.) There's nothing like laying in a narrow radiology bed with a three-year old who is flailing her heavy limbs and head, and spouting half-sedated nonsense.
When she fell asleep and had the scan, I figured the hard part was over. I didn't realize how tough it would be to take care of her in her post-sedated state. I picked up Zoodle from our friends' house, and we headed home, where I was on my own since The Engineer was on a business trip.
Chickie was acting like a drunk. Under the influence of a depressant drug, I tried to prevent her from running into walls, falling into coffee tables, and (later in the evening) using her wobbly legs to jump off the arm of the couch. Add a sleepy 11-month-old into the mix, and it's enough to make Mommy wish she'd been the one sedated.
I do have to admit that toddlers "under the influence" can be pretty darn funny. It was just impossible to appreciate that when I was overwhlemed and outnumbered.
So I have a new parenting rule to shout from the mountaintops: If you ever come home with a sedated kid, make sure you're playing one-on-one defense. It's pretty hard to win when you're being double-teamed by a baby and a drunk.