Two
Two. What's two you ask? Two. The number of times I have called poison control in the past week. No, I'm not proud. Quite the opposite really. The number now resides on the refrigerator, something I had laughed about seeing at a friend's house once. I should know better than to laugh.
Just a few days ago as I was busily answering emails and on a conference call (I do some work in my "spare" time), it was quiet, eerily quiet. I yelled out, "Hudson!" To which I received the usual "Ahh" response, (true, it's just ah, but he says it short and quick just like when Dan or I say, "what!") but slightly muffled.
Hudson stood before me with a mouth full of peace lily and a toothy grin. I instinctively googled. "Peace lily poison" to which I received responses that it is, in fact, poisonous. And so, my next search "Kansas poison control" had me with a phone number that promptly connected me with a helpful woman to research the situation.
I was told that while it was poisonous, it was likely he hadn't injested enough to be dangerous, just to give him lots of water as he would be very thirsty and be aware his tongue would probably swell. Good. Problem solved. So my thirsty swollen-tongued Hudson was just fine. Funny, but fine.
Today, as I unpacked groceries while Hudson was happily playing, again the eerie silence enveloped the house. "Hudson" I yelled. "Ahh," he responded as I heard clumping down the hallway toward me. He toppled over and I saw it.
I hesitate telling you what was in his mouth. For many reasons really; that it happened, how I initially reacted, and my next reaction. But, in the spirit of blogging and "letting it all out," I'll share. My son had, in his mouth, the toilet brush. Now I promise, the bathroom door is shut 99.9% of the time for precisely this reason. I fear him getting into most of what is in the bathroom and with his recent discovery of how to open a toilet lid, nothing is safe.
I laughed at first. It was, in the moment, a little funny. (He had removed it from his mouth at this point.) Here was my son, so proud to show me what he had found completely oblivious of what this item was used for. He grasped the handle firmly with his chubby little hands as though it were a prize smiling ear to ear with that toothy dimply smile that melts me every time.
"Hudson," I said sternly. He erupted in giggles. Yes, my son takes my stern voice rather seriously, as does the rest of the world when a 10 year old girl voice tries to sound serious. But, as I snatched it from him, put it away and quickly looked for something to distract him, I panicked.
Suddenly, I saw myself using that brush just the night before to clean the toilets. (In hindsight, it's probably good that he picked today for this. I sound like quite the housekeeper to have just cleaned the toilets.) I tried to rethink my actions. I always cleaned off the brush after I used it. I always rinsed it with water after I had scrubbed the chemicals in the bowl. Yes, I know it was clean. But how clean could a toilet brush really be? Yes, I know it's used to clean a toilet, perhaps the dirtiest item in most homes and so inevitably it would have germs, etc. But I was more concerned about the chemicals. Those are strong. They can't wash off. "Oh no," I screamed. (as if anyone could hear), "my baby's been poisoned." My drama never disappoints.
With Hudson in my arms I dashed to the fridge for the number. By this time, I was certain he was starting to show the effects of poisoning, whatever those may be. I tried to compose myself and speak with the pleasant technician who took my call. I explained the situation and she asked all the right questions. I answered carefully and with as much composure as possible. As the call concluded, I was reassured with a sweet voice that my little boy would be fine. Feeling like a crazy person, I again provided my name and zip code.
The truth is, I knew Hudson was going to be OK before dialing the number, but just like when Huddy was a newborn and I made Dan recheck him after me. I'm a worrier by nature. Worrying is in my genes, passed on for generations. And so, instead of waiting countless hours googling and stewing throughout the day, not allowing Hudson to nap for fear I couldn't watch him every second, and imagining each action was a result of the poison, I decided to call someone who would tell me it was OK, someone certified to do so. No, I'm not proud that I need this reassurance, but it's a lot of pressure having this guy around 24/7 and I'll take any reassurances I can get.
Besides, those poison control people are pretty friendly. I'm not erasing the number.
Here are some shots of Hudson's adventures while I was on a conference call the other day. I couldn't help but laugh.
I failed to get any of him as he was "surfing" on Roomba.
He had his own call to take.
Dog pile.
I swear he was saying, "Mom, you're a lot nicer with coffee."
Or wine...
Trying to figure out what to get into next...
Daisy eating Captain Crunch
This was his room by the time the call was over. Oh, the Hud!
Just a few days ago as I was busily answering emails and on a conference call (I do some work in my "spare" time), it was quiet, eerily quiet. I yelled out, "Hudson!" To which I received the usual "Ahh" response, (true, it's just ah, but he says it short and quick just like when Dan or I say, "what!") but slightly muffled.
Hudson stood before me with a mouth full of peace lily and a toothy grin. I instinctively googled. "Peace lily poison" to which I received responses that it is, in fact, poisonous. And so, my next search "Kansas poison control" had me with a phone number that promptly connected me with a helpful woman to research the situation.
I was told that while it was poisonous, it was likely he hadn't injested enough to be dangerous, just to give him lots of water as he would be very thirsty and be aware his tongue would probably swell. Good. Problem solved. So my thirsty swollen-tongued Hudson was just fine. Funny, but fine.
Today, as I unpacked groceries while Hudson was happily playing, again the eerie silence enveloped the house. "Hudson" I yelled. "Ahh," he responded as I heard clumping down the hallway toward me. He toppled over and I saw it.
I hesitate telling you what was in his mouth. For many reasons really; that it happened, how I initially reacted, and my next reaction. But, in the spirit of blogging and "letting it all out," I'll share. My son had, in his mouth, the toilet brush. Now I promise, the bathroom door is shut 99.9% of the time for precisely this reason. I fear him getting into most of what is in the bathroom and with his recent discovery of how to open a toilet lid, nothing is safe.
I laughed at first. It was, in the moment, a little funny. (He had removed it from his mouth at this point.) Here was my son, so proud to show me what he had found completely oblivious of what this item was used for. He grasped the handle firmly with his chubby little hands as though it were a prize smiling ear to ear with that toothy dimply smile that melts me every time.
"Hudson," I said sternly. He erupted in giggles. Yes, my son takes my stern voice rather seriously, as does the rest of the world when a 10 year old girl voice tries to sound serious. But, as I snatched it from him, put it away and quickly looked for something to distract him, I panicked.
Suddenly, I saw myself using that brush just the night before to clean the toilets. (In hindsight, it's probably good that he picked today for this. I sound like quite the housekeeper to have just cleaned the toilets.) I tried to rethink my actions. I always cleaned off the brush after I used it. I always rinsed it with water after I had scrubbed the chemicals in the bowl. Yes, I know it was clean. But how clean could a toilet brush really be? Yes, I know it's used to clean a toilet, perhaps the dirtiest item in most homes and so inevitably it would have germs, etc. But I was more concerned about the chemicals. Those are strong. They can't wash off. "Oh no," I screamed. (as if anyone could hear), "my baby's been poisoned." My drama never disappoints.
With Hudson in my arms I dashed to the fridge for the number. By this time, I was certain he was starting to show the effects of poisoning, whatever those may be. I tried to compose myself and speak with the pleasant technician who took my call. I explained the situation and she asked all the right questions. I answered carefully and with as much composure as possible. As the call concluded, I was reassured with a sweet voice that my little boy would be fine. Feeling like a crazy person, I again provided my name and zip code.
The truth is, I knew Hudson was going to be OK before dialing the number, but just like when Huddy was a newborn and I made Dan recheck him after me. I'm a worrier by nature. Worrying is in my genes, passed on for generations. And so, instead of waiting countless hours googling and stewing throughout the day, not allowing Hudson to nap for fear I couldn't watch him every second, and imagining each action was a result of the poison, I decided to call someone who would tell me it was OK, someone certified to do so. No, I'm not proud that I need this reassurance, but it's a lot of pressure having this guy around 24/7 and I'll take any reassurances I can get.
Besides, those poison control people are pretty friendly. I'm not erasing the number.
Here are some shots of Hudson's adventures while I was on a conference call the other day. I couldn't help but laugh.
I swear he was saying, "Mom, you're a lot nicer with coffee."
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