What better way to kick off a new year than with a classic anecdote of “How are you allowed to be a mother?”
If you are raising, or someday hope to raise, multiple children, there’s a very good chance you’ll have to dial the Poison Control number at some point. We had to do it when Punkin ate deodorant (yes, deodorant) and when Goo ate approximately 30 gummy vitamins. But you know what there is no hotline for? Inedible objects.
Ringing in the New Year, everybody is making New Year’s resolutions. I’m not really into that, because I’m fairly certain 90% of those are failed attempts. I prefer to continually be trying to be the woman I want to be, whether that means joining (and actually using) the gym, or organizing the art cabinet. A sparkly ball dropping in NYC with a poorly hosted show of random celebrities does nothing to motivate me. Sorry, Carson.
While thinking about the things I’m currently working on, I thought: Maybe this will be the year. Maybe I’ll finally have my stuff so amazingly together, I’ll have to get rid of Parenting FAIL Friday because I’ll run out of material.
I made it 2.5 days.
While getting the girls into bed the other night, I was snuggling Goo, and I heard a distinct crunch, then cough and gag, from the other bed. Cue this conversation:
Me: Smush, are you okay?
Smush: *gagging, spitting* Umm, yeah.
Me: Did you eat something?
Me: What did you eat?
Smush: Umm, just a Christmas light.
I flew, I mean FLEW, to her bedside, to find her spitting out tiny pieces of red Christmas bulb. Thankfully, it appeared that she did not swallow any, but Mom radar doesn’t shut off, so I have spent the last several days monitoring her eating and pooping (so. fun.) and waiting for the slightest sign of digestive issues.
In the meantime, all Christmas decorations have been taken down, and I’m seriously considering getting those electric shock pads to put around the tree next year. My girls broke no less than 6 ornaments this year. Plus there’s the whole issue of Smush apparently having some mild form of pica. If you read that definition, I’m fairly certain every toddler in the world has had “pica” at some point. Kids eat things. Like crayons, and paper, and light bulbs, evidently.
Maybe I should start off small with this New Year’s thing. “No ER trips in 2013.” Has a nice a ring to it.