Hiya, it's me again, still slacking away! Now, before I launch into my newest story of bad parenting, I want to point that I created a lovely playroom for my daughter today- yay me! It is blissfully free of sharp objects and glass cabinets and remote controls and computer cords; it is a little safe haven in which I can hopefully crash out on the bed (okay, it's also still the spare bedroom) and watch Addy play to her little heart's content without hovering every second to prevent some new form of head trauma and/or damage to "mommy's pretties." So I feel pretty good about myself. And I also finally put outlet covers throughout the house. I realize this may seem extremely late in the game to be doing that, but our kid was a late crawler, ok? It didn't really seem urgent until now.
So. Those are my triumphs of the week. Also the fact that Addy is better now, her new tooth is nearly in, and she has been sleeping through the night again! These seemingly small things have made the difference between a happy, perky mama, and a mama who was getting weepy driving around the rural outskirts of town, listening to the same cd play for the third time in a row, just so that her stuffy, congested baby back in the carseat would stay asleep a little bit longer.
Now for the confession part. I was getting clothes out of the dryer the other day and sat Adelay down on the rug next to me. She was playing with some toy and was pretty quiet and content, so I kind of forgot she was there after a minute, and when I finished the laundry, I continued on into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher. Then, couple of minutes later, it dawns on me how quiet Adelay has been, and I turn around to look into the laundry room. There, next to the dog's dish, sat my happy, drooling baby, chewing on an ant trap. With dead ants dangling off of it.
My heart was racing so fast, seriously, and I'm running in there and grabbing her up and snatching away the poison chew toy, and I'm actually saying to myself out loud, "Now, don't panic, it's probably fine, these kinds of things are almost always fine, kids eat all kinds of awful things and survive..." But still my heart is racing, racing, racing, and I'm watching my daughter, waiting for her lips to turn blue or for her to start coughing weakly or something. I didn't even know what to look for!
So I scrambled for my phone and called the local hospital's hotline, and they referred me to Poison Control Center (and yes, I know, I should have that number posted on my refrigerator, along with the number of the local police and my child's pediatrician and our local pharmacy and also a list of every known sex offender in a 100-mile radius. I know!) And then my phone started it's insistent beeping- low battery!- and in order to stay on the phone with the Poison Control lady, I had to hook my phone to its charger. So, I was essentially attached to the wall, waiting for her to look up the exact ingredients of my particular brand of ant trap to see if I had allowed my baby to ingest toxic poisons or not, and as I'm waiting, Adelay crawls over to the kitchen cupboard and starts pulling out more great toys like dish detergent and Lysol antibacterial spray! And then helpful poison center lady returns to the phone to assure me that my daughter will live and I don't need to induce vomiting or anything, but that I "really need to watch her every minute, you know- they can get into trouble as soon as you turn your back!"
Is there a lower feeling than being scolded by a complete stranger? Not in my catalogue of emotions. I am one of those shallow people to whom other people's opinions actually matter a lot, even though I am loathe to admit it, and I felt like total parent scum for a few minutes. My husband arrived right at that moment, though, so I got to quickly relay the story, hand off the baby, and escape to the bathroom for a quick cry before dinner. That was nice. Small favors...
So, yeah. That was a bad day. The dog threw up twice that morning, also. Just so you know. But hey, we're all still alive, so what's a bad day?