Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The One Where I Call Poison Control

Its been that kind of morning.

Around seven or so I heard the "toy alarm" go off in Little Man's room.   The toy alarm is the most annoying, loud, jungle themed thing from the Satan worshipers at Playskool.

This toy was created by people that hate parents.

Little Man ate lost the balls from this toy ages ago.  He was never interested in the actual function of this toy anyways, so it had been relegated to the bookshelf in his room collecting dust.  But then he discovered the little lever inside that can be pressed (usually by the balls) to make that ungodly noise.  And now he loves this toy. 

So I leave it outside his crib and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he can't resist the urge to play the music on this toy.  Mommy wakes up, sticks him back in the crib.  And repeat until someone passes out.  Its a brilliant system

Anyway I got sidetracked.  The point is that I heard the toy alarm go off this morning around sevenish, and its loud demon call woke up me up from a great dream about banana bread.

I know you feel bad for me, but don't.  I was loving my dream about banana bread.

After about six or seven rounds of ear-piercing jungle songs, I made a horrible mistake.

"What if I just... snooze a minute more... and think about bread... how much trouble can he really get in??"

I mean, there is nothing in his room anymore.  A gate on the door.  What could possibly go wrong?!?!

There is a blissful silence where I envision my darling angel chewing the ear off one of the stuffed animals lovingly gifted to him by his great-grandmother.  And I smile and enjoy the warm coziness that is a bed at 7 in the morning.


Containment breach!!   The minute I hear that I jump out of bed and run towards Little Man's room to see what happened/if he has escaped.  The cat (possibly created by the same demons who work at Playskool) has knocked down the baby gate.  Little Man is inside his room and giggling at this point so I feel confident that my extra 15 minutes of snooze was worth it.

It so wasn't.

Little Man sees me and the downed baby gate at the same time and races towards the door, excited to see me and completely covered in Desitin.   He slams his little body into me and is ready to be picked up and brought to breakfast per usual.

Called my godmother and got her advice (he's fine).  Called my mother and got her advice (call Poison Control).  Poison Control kind of laughed at me and told me to watch out for extreme pooping.

No.  More. Snooze Button.


  1. Yikes! I remember when Margaret hid and covered her whole head and body with vaseline. Greasy kid!

    1. Oh I can't even imagine how hard that was to get off of her!! Hahaha :)

  2. LOL! Sorry, but that's hilarious. In my case (when my daughter was maybe two), it was mascara, all over her body.

    1. Oh I was laughing... later... much later!