Poison Control

Tl;DR Poison control operators are very nice.

I had to call poison control because Henry (age 2ish) stuffed 20 (?) Advil into his mouth. I had given him the bottle - the CHILDPROOF bottle - because he liked to shake it, and I was changing my littlest one who was a tiny baby at the time. I turned around for 10 seconds? 15 seconds? And turned back to find rivulets of Advil juice leaking down his chin. He smiled at me and revealed a mouth full of Advil tablets. Of course I freaked the hell out and dug my finger in his mouth and fished them all out, scaring him. Called Poison Control and they kept asking me questions like how many total were in the bottle? (IDK) How many did he eat and I was like none, I think?????? Finally we settled on signs of trouble to look for - i.e. barfing or lethargy. 

Moral of the story: he was fine. I was not. He never gets to play with pharmaceuticals anymore. Poison control is very nice.

Mama Bear 7.27.20

Our nanny came home with the two kids this morning, both of them hollering, while she was uncharacteristically flustered coming through the door. Henry is worked up, doesn't want to wash his hands, Rose is just upset.

Come to find out they got hustled home because the group of kids Henry has been palling around with in the park these days (nothing inside like the library is open, and nothing sanctioned like the playground is either) decided to play "bad guy." From what I gather from toddler-speak, and the nanny’s explanation, the kids (Henry included) - Henry being one of the youngest, the others mostly clocking in around 4-5 - decided that he, Henry, would be the "bad guy" and try to tear down the imaginary tree house, while the other kids, not-so-imaginary-ly whaled on him, hitting and pushing him. 

The nanny, normally unflappable, was so upset and had given the other nannies in the park the what-for, yelling at them that their boy/s was hitting her boy and they weren't paying close enough attention. She said it was like bullying and she put her foot down that there would be NO MORE of that game. 

Henry, on the other hand, seemed to be unfazed as I Hydrogen Peroxided his arm, dabbed it with Neosporin and covered his scratches with a bandage. He loudly yelled that he was THE BAD GUY and he was tearing down the tree house. When I told him I was coming to the park myself tomorrow (with my switchblade) he clasped his hands together and said in one breath, EXCITING, and FIGHT AGAIN. 

Trying to measure and match my responses to how he feels about the situation, but also put a stop to any bad behavior, especially the kind that rattles my experienced and very capable nanny. 

My own reaction? Bloodlust. And a painfully tender feeling that I cannot expect to protect my babies all the time. And a reminder of how little he still is. And how I'd like to take a bat to the whole piñata of children at the park who dare make sport of my baby. And maybe a teensy bit of pride at the stubborn fierceness in my boy.