Monday, March 4, 2013

The Saturday That Was

Spoiler Alert: Carter Henry is OK

It was a typical Saturday morning.

Make chocolate chip pancakes
Watch happily as two children devour pancakes using mad self-feeding skills
Clean up Kitchen
Post a cutsie picture to Instagram sharing the good news about the self-feeding skills
Tackle some housecleaning duties while the children work off the pancakes running circles around me
Rush Carter to the ER for eating a glass ornament
(apparently he wanted a bit more crunch as a side to his pancakes)

It all started when Aaron left right after breakfast for the local flower show. Since this show only ran for three days, Aaron had to be in his booth every second it was open as to maximize the money he put into it. I should know by now that as soon as Daddy becomes unavailable? Something will happen.

I was cleaning out from underneath the couches (anyone else's couch serve as a magnet for toys, odd socks, empty water bottles, and the randomnest of random...no, just me?), and between the time I swept it out and turned my back on the kids for thirty seconds to put the broom away, an errant silver Christmas tree ornament must have been exposed to a certain pair of curious blue eyes. Pudgy fingers picked it up. Turned it over. And then decided to further investigate with a large bite into the delicious silver foreign object. Was it chocolate? Salty? Creamy? There was only one way to find out.

I didn't discover his activity until he walked up to me, handed me the other half of the ornament, and smiled with bleeding lips a glittery smile full of silver glass pieces.

My heart started pounding, my eyes grew two sizes, a hot sweat immediately broke out over my body, and my legs went numb. I wasn't really sure what to do next.

This is where the toddler stage frustrates me. What I really needed was to ask- Dude, did you swallow any glass? Can you breathe OK? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Do you taste blood? Instead, impish blue eyes stared solemnly back at me before he broke out into a victory swagger to the rhythm of "Weeee are the Champions of the Wooooorld", escaping away from me and my obviously ridiculous questions.

I will never understand toddlers.

Chasing him down, I tried to fish out all of the pieces of glass out of his mouth. I gave him a drink of water trying to rinse out his mouth (I found out later this was a mistake) while dialing up the Pediatrician's office.

When the nurses pauses and then slowly tells you to head straight to the nearest ER, you know you're in trouble. She told me to look in his mouth for blood, but all I could see were shiny silver spots on his guilty, guilty gums.

Have you ever seen a set of guilty gums? They are covered in things that should not be ingested and instill fear into the heart of all who see them.

I quickly dressed the kids, changed into something other than pajamas, brushed my teeth, and rushed them to the car. We set a record for how quickly we got out of the door.

While driving, shaking, and obsessively looking back at Carter to make sure he was still breathing, the fuel light on my car came on accompanied by all sorts of alarms and beeps. Pretty sure along with "YOU ARE OUT OF GAS" my car also shouted "YOU ARE A HORRIBLE MOTHER". I didn't want take the time to stop, so I pressed forward, praying that the gas fumes would get us there. I ignored the accusations. Whose idea was it to make cars that talk, anyway?

We got to the Urgent Care that was the closest to our house, loaded up into the red wagon, and ran inside. After waiting ten minutes to be seen, the nurse heard our story, observed that Carter's airway seemed free, and told us that we needed to go to the other ER since they didn't have a Pediatric probe to pull out any glass pieces they might find via X-ray.

I loaded the kids back up into the car. They were at this point starting to become super whiny since naptime was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. The concern issued by the nurse and the words "pediatric probe" escalated two things that seem to accompany motherhood all too frequently: fear and guilt. While driving to the other ER (having to take five minutes to stop and put a gallon of gas in my car so that we could make it there) my shakes intensified from slight breeze to hurricane winds as my mind explored the possibility of how this could go down.

When we got to the ER, the receptionist looked appropriately shocked when I explained that my son had eaten a glass Christmas ornament, but then when she saw his rambunctious self trying to free himself from the restraints of the wagon and heard his loud protests of the cruelty of having to wear a hospital bracelet, she appeared to be an unbeliever of my story letting several more urgent cases go ahead of us. (Because yeah, I had nothing better to do with my morning than try to make up a crazy story about my son eating glass in order to hang out in this super plush waiting room with two naughty toddlers during nap time. Yes, receptionist lady. You got me.)

So even though the waiting room was empty when we got there, we still had to wait a while to be seen. (This extra time made me wish I had taken the necessary two minutes to create slightly-less scary look for myself via some makeup application.) I wasn't supposed to give Carter anything to eat and drink (as to not push any pieces of glass any farther down), so I couldn't give Addison anything to eat or drink either because whatever she had he would have screamed until he got equal shares, and he was supposed to stay calm.

It was naptime. They were both hungry. Not even the most tempting of iPad games kept their attention for very long.
After fifty "I promise to never___ again if you speed this up" deals with God, we finally got back into an exam room. As soon as Carter was freed from the wagon, he bounded up onto the bed then immediately dove head first into the nearest wall attempting to self-medicate with those obviously needed oxygen cords. The large red welt on his forehead looked concussion-worthy. Good thing we were already at the ER.

When I at long last got him settled back down and turned thirty seconds of attention to Addison who was being an absolutely angel, a nurse came running into the room like it was on fire. "WHAT? Is everything OK? What's wrong?"

I was confused until I glanced over and saw Carter Henry making out with the call button. Of course.

Little boy screamed and fought through the indignity of his very first X-ray, had a complete meltdown when Addison finally got a cwacker and he couldn't have one yet, and continued to assert his opinion of mean mommy making him spend the morning in the ER without food and drink. Halfway through the visit Addison started dissolving into puddles of tears and shrieks of anger for no reason at all due to her missed nap.

Basically the morning was like a fun walk in the park.
Long story short, his X-ray was clean, inside his mouth didn't show sign of bleeding, and he wasn't in any apparent pain. We arrived home at long last and I found the large missing piece of the ornament over in a corner of a living room which set my mind tremendously at ease.

After this experience, I have come to a few conclusions:
1. My son hates me

2. Cleaning underneath couches is evil. Objects lost in the shadow of a couch should be considered lost souls and left to their fate

3. My son hates me

4. Allowing silver ornaments to decorate the mantel long after Christmas is stupid. You let down your guard, and then your children forget everything that you spent the entire month of December learning.

5.Wearing a hospital bracelet is apparently one of the top three horrors to ever happen to a young boy. This unfair twist of fate is surpassed only by having your food stolen by your sister and not given equal time on the iPad.
6. My son hates me

We all caught up? I was pretty excited about a fresh, new week until both children woke up this morning at 4am and my first cup of coffee tasted like black sludge.

March, I am so not impressed. I think you can do better. yes?



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