Last night I was having one of my traditional re-cap the day phone calls with the BOS, and I came inside the house (our house is small and talking outside is best) to find dh looking slightly pale. He had just rescued Bubbles from near death, it seems.
He had been choking.
:::Blink. Blink. Blinzeln:::
On a coin, we assume.
He heard choking, he ran upstairs to find Bubbles throwing up his milk and dinner, and under the whole pile of puke, were two coins: one penny, and one quarter.
The quarter seems to be what put him into gag mode.
OMFG. (repeat as necessary) (for me this was x 857)
After I recovered from another near-death experience (which is as close as we can afford to get), I asked the little boy in my arms, "Did you eat money?"
To which he replied glibly, "I did it."
Dh and I looked at each other. It was so clear, we just didn't even believe it.
"Bubbles. Did you eat money?", I asked him again.
He looked back and forth at both of us before he grinned wildly and proudly answered, "I did it!"
I shook my head. I wanted to believe that he was over that. Seriously, the last time I saw him put a chokable non-food item in his mouth was at least six months ago.
Ah, but the key there is in the itallic..
So, here we are. Two slightly paranoid parents who consider themselves vigilant. What if both of us had been out of the house and not heard the choking?
What if the quarter that he somehow(?!) got hold of and (probably) ran around with in his mouth had become lodged in his throat the other way. Whichever way it would have created not a sound. Because, you know, that is what true choking sounds like.
And on to that sleeping room. My project for today. I just can't search a huge parent bedroom/playroom every night for the deathly choking items. I need this change for my sanity. That, and the fact that those damn kids have been sleeping with me all night long, and then one of them has been getting me up at SIX am!!!, which just PISSES ME OFF. But not as much as waking up to a DEAD TODDLER would piss me off.
And so, back to neurotic parenting for us.
I tried to give it up when Bubbles was nine months old, but absolutely nothing could stop me from checking his breathing every five minutes while he slept.
I tried to give it up when we had that consistent run of connect-the-bumps-and-bruises on the forehead, but then there was that concussion.
What's the point of letting go of the neuropathy if you are living with a child who will be constantly bringing you to the brinks of disaster; the edges of sanity?