Poison Control

So the other night, I had to call Poison Control for the first time with child number 4. I've had to call them so much over the last 10 years that it doesn't even phase me anymore when they ask for my name and zip code.

When my oldest was our only there was a span of time that I called them A LOT. I was so scared that there was some type of "Poison Control Quota" and if you called more than the quota Social Services would make a visit. I was certain Blake would be taken away after I had to call about him pouring gasoline all over himself in the same month he drank mouthwash (and two other things I've since forgotten).

Anyway, back to the other night.

I cleaned the kitchen after dinner. I even started the dishwasher and mopped the floor! Ok, Swiffered, but whatever. I forgot to re-lock the cleaner's cabinet. About 15 minutes later, I was in the school room, and I heard that oh, so, familiar sound. That gagging, sputtering, choking sound. I jumped up, hurdled the gate, and saw Luke in the hallway with the remnants of a dishwasher pack*, clearly gagging, and, uh, stuff coming out his mouth.

I realized what it was immediately. I jerked him up and ran to the kitchen, making sure there wasn't any left in his mouth. I started reading the label on the package and calling out orders at the same time "bring me the phone, I need to call poison control", "he needs milk, get me some milk", and "DO NOT INDUCE VOMITING" as he vomits (I'm so glad I mopped the floor!).

He's fine, just gave us a scare. The poison control guy gave me some instructions and things to look for, and then he called me back in 1/2 an hour to make sure Luke was ok.

In related? news, he went to bed great that night and slept until 7 am the next morning. It was the first time Luke has slept through the night since we left California.

Jerry says maybe we should feed him a dishwasher pack every night! He's kidding, right? :-)

*These