Last week I had one of the most unexpected days in my mommy memory bank. It's been a while since I've gone off on a mom-vent, so why not today?
There's this thing about having kids in your life... you NEVER know where the day might end up. I woke up expecting to spend the morning house-hunting (and dreading it), but here's what happened instead:
- 2 year-old son runs up to me and says, "Mommy, nose."
- I look up from the computer, where I had studiously mapped out several houses to go look at. I remember distinctly wishing I didn't have to go house hunting (I should have wished for a million dollars. Who knew THAT was the moment I'd have a wish come true).
- I say to the little guy, "Yes, nose. Good job, you're a very smart little guy!"
- 2 year-old repeats, "Mommy NOSE, nozzzzzze mommy. Nose ouchie. Hurt nozzzzzze. It's okay nozzzzze. All beh-dah nose."
- Huh? I look at his nose. All seems well. "Did you fall down and hurt your nose? It's okay, buddy. All better," I tell him. But he looks at me with those big brown eyes and pokes his nose. He winces.
- Eeek. Is there something up his nose??? I look over to where he'd been playing. A pile of his big brother's Legos lay scattered. (Blog friend, think about it. Legos. Did you get the same sinking feeling as me?)
- Yes, they are teeny, tiny, not-for-children-under-three Legos.
- "Come here buddy, let mommy see your nose," I say, which immediately launches him into evade-the-mommy mode.
- After cornering and overpowering him, I turn him upside down and get a good look.
- OH CRRRRRAP.
- Yes, there's a Lego stuck up his nose.
- The shiny little thing looks almost reachable... what do I do? The decision is taken out of my hand when he takes a breath, and the tiny piece of Lego DISAPPEARS INTO HIS EVER LOVING SKULL!!!! RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES!!!! Vanishes! Poof, it's gone!
- I'm no anatomy whiz, but this does not seem ideal.
- *Commence freak out.*
- I call my husband, who btw is a nurse. I'm hoping for some magical solution, just SOMETHING that keeps our little dude out of the ER. No dice. The husband says, "ER, and rush."
- Rush? Do I ever lolly-gag over to the emergency room??!
- The 2 year-old and I zip off to the ER. I keep imagining the Lego going further and further up into his brain with each breath he takes. I can't very well tell the little guy not to breathe! Although in freak-out mode, strange, dizzying thoughts do occur. (Son, stop breathing. We have to keep the Lego from going deeper into your brain).
- Still, he *could* potentially breathe it in further. I model mouth breathing; "Look sweetpea, breathe with your mouth open, like mommy! Ooh, ahh, ooh, ahh! Like a fishy! Like a fishy who shouldn't breathe through his nose!!"
- The 2 year-old stares at me like I'm insane for the whole ride to the hospital.
- I get into the ER and fill out the form. It says, "Reason for visit:" Well, I'm sure they've seen worse. I write, "Lego stuck up my child's nose. Possibly further."
- We are called next. The nurse takes us to a room and leaves to get the doctor right away. Apparently a foreign object stuck in a kid's nose is a big deal (nothing to sneeze at? Okay that's enough). If the Lego goes down the back of his throat he could choke!
- While we wait, another nurse pokes her head in. "Poor thing, he put a Lego up his nose?" Yes, yes he did. I'll be going home with the scarlet "N" for Neglectful mother.
- I hear the nurse laugh a little as she draws the curtain. Several drafts of my, "Worst Mother of the Year Award" acceptance speech come to mind.
- A doctor and yet another nurse come in. The doctor uses that light up pointy thing to look up the 2 year-old's nose. The 2 year-old believes it's a torture device. Either that, or the thing really IS a torture device, and my son has every right to kick the doctor in the face.
- The doctor isn't bothered by the red welt across his cheek, aka my son's footprint. The nurse "restrains" my son and the doc gets a good look. "Oh yeah, it's in there all right."
- Relief! If the doc can see it, there's a good chance brain surgery may not be necessary!
- Out comes a long, thin tube. A huge, glaring light is brought down. This is where it gets ugly, let me tell ya, because if the pointy thingy was a torture device, that tube must have been covered in invisible spikes and been five thousand degrees. But the end result is a thoroughly traumatized, Lego-free child.
- The nurse advises my son not to put things up his nose anymore. Gee, thanks lady. He's already a quivering, sniffling, emotional wreck in my arms. Let's bring out the moral of the story while we're at it.
- All is well. He falls asleep on the car ride home. I swing by McDonald's so he'll have his favorite lunch waiting for him when he wakes up.
- When I get home, my 5 year-old son asks, "Was there really a Lego stuck up his nose?" I sigh. He follows me into the bedroom, upset that I hadn't brought him back his Lego.
- And it's too late in the day to go house hunting. Look at that, wish granted.
As you'll notice at the end of this post, I did this from my phone. For those who are mystified by me, thumbing away, today it all started with a call from my daughter's keyboard academy while I was taking her home from Brownies. She had missed last week, and they wanted to do a make-up session today, and the surprise lesson left me unprepared for an hour of free time. All I had for boredom-diffusement was my blackberry :)
Everyone in the studio is already used to me typing away on my laptop, so this antisocial change in keyboard size probably didn't phase them much. I got home, finished the Lego Saga here on my phone while I made dinner, and here I am, about to load up the dishwasher. C'est la vie of a modern mommy. :)
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