As I lazed about in bed this morning wondering where my G-D breakfast was, my mind wandered to my feet. Specifically, my lovely bunions. I know, gross. I became unreasonably excited about the prospect of surgery this year as our health spending account money will roll over and we will have zero deductible for 2013-2014. We have never had this occur in the past because I was hell bent on unintentionally injuring my child, or at least taking him to the ER often enough to zero out our account.
December 2010 (this is an insane post)
1. Around month four we were rear-ended on a cold winter night. I was positive EK's head fell off and was so freaked out I scared the other driver into crying. I honked all the way from Bucktown to Children's Memorial in Lincoln Park, made it through triage and then watched Ellis spit up on the nurse. I was reassured that his head was attached and we went home.
2. Then came the ER trip because his little finger was all huge and red and hot. I drew a line in pen to see if the red spread. It did. Turns out I gave him the herpes (via a cold sore). Or he had cellulitis. My MD friend who told me that I could give him finger clap by biting his nails was indeed correct. I guess I should have sucked it up and clipped his tiny, delicate nails like a real parent (and risk cutting off his entire finger).
Luckily he responded well to the antibiotics; otherwise we would have had to take him for an IV which, as we all know, would have been super easy since all six month olds LOVE to sit still.
3. Oh, but here is the best one. One that I haven't written about because the shame was unbelievable. You know in in all of those baby classes and ads for cleaning products how they tell you to keep chemicals away from children. Right. Well common sense once again didn't prevail in the Swirley household. One morning I poured toilet cleaner into our toilets and then ran to tend to a sick baby home from school. HOURS later I found myself downstairs talking on the phone while EK played. All of a sudden I realized I heard him the bathroom and ran in only to find him putting his hand from the toilet to his mouth. I smelled his hand, his mouth and LOST MY FREAKING MIND. A normal person would call poison control. A deranged one thinks that maybe, just maybe, she saw her kid involuntarily twitch from instantaneous neurological damage. So off to the hospital we went. Again. Honking like a mad woman.
We arrived, the triage nurse inquired why EK had access to a bottle of cleaner (I brought it with me) and through sobs I told them it was diluted in the toilet but I was sure I broke him. So the doctor blew up some rubber gloves into balloons, called poison control and told me that he would have to drink the whioe bottle to have problems. Then they gave me a poison control sticker and shoved me through the door.
4. Plus all of the plagiocephaly appointments, croup and antibiotic prescriptions (sorry about that one flavored with sour apple). And the ten foot fall from the top of playground equipment due to a miscommunication with Mr. Swirley.
Basically, during EK's first two years on earth we did our damnedest to (unintentionally) mame him. But he persevered. And thanks to his general hardiness, and good health since June 2012, mama's got money for some sexy casts. I guess I shouldn't jinx myself since we have six more weeks til the rollover.
Happy Mama's Day! Good job keeping your kids healthy, because, after all, that is what we are really celebrating.
OK, off to work in the yard. I am sure that will end well.
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