It was bound to happen sometime.
Baby N. enjoys putting things in her mouth. A lot. More than the boys did at the same age, let me tell you. We are constantly scooping stuff out of her gob, everything from pennies to sticks to dust bunnies. She always complains loudly every time we rescue her digestive system from these objects.
Yesterday, however, she triumphed. Yesterday, she swallowed a pebble.
We were out on the back step. I was hanging laundry while Baby N. sat at my feet, playing with a toy. I had scanned the step for swallowable objects when we came outside. Nothing, I thought. Then Baby N. got that gleam in her eye.
She dived. I scooped her up, grabbed her cheeks, pushed on them to open her mouth, and inserted the trusty swiping finger. I could see the pebble at the back of her mouth. We struggled. She screamed, pulled her head back and went gulp! The pebble was gone.
I sighed, brought her inside, and called the BC Nurse Line.
She wasn't choking, wheezing or in pain; in fact, she was sashaying around the living room, enjoying her success.
The nurse told me to keep an eye on what comes out her other end.
"If she hasn't passed it in a week, bring her to the doctor," she said.
Princess Plumber Butt passed the pebble this morning in her ritual morning deposit.
And I wonder why I'm going gray.
2 comments:
She's like a chicken! Would you be mad if I called her the Little Chick?
Nope. That's hilarious!
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