Applying hydrocortisone cream to the back of Punkin's knees is like poking a fish. He's on his tummy in bed, and I warn him, "I'm gonna put medicine on your legs."
"Ready?" I touch him.
Legs are flapping, hands are flailing, wiping the white goo off of his knees."A MESS! A MESS! A MESS! TWEAN UP? TWEAN UP?" He's staring up at me, begging me for help; I hand him a towel.
And yes, I am laughing while I reach for the other leg.