So, I find out that the gravel Alex was just having a blast playing in, was sprayed with Round Up yesterday. And the twenty-first-century-mom that I am, I go right to http://www.google.com/ and look it up, just like all other moms do these days when their kids do deadly and toxic things.
Okay, so Poison Control is still there for you but at least you don't have to head right to the phone in the heat of a disaster if you use Google. Plus, I can never remember that number or find the "convenient place" I stored the number at. Google is so much handier, faster and obviously safer since it's literally at my finger tips. And it's not on the phone.
Speaking of phone, that seems to cause a disaster in and of itself anymore these days. I get on the phone to check on a sick relative or verify wedding plans and even though it's a tender caring thought that is propelling me to connect with my phone, it turns into a serious problem.
A problem like a 3 year old climbing in the fridge, looking for her vitamins that she already had. The phone rings/I call someone and suddenly, there she is in the fridge... every. single. time. I. get. on. the. phone. It's like that's her cue to get her pills for the day... "Oh Mom's on the phone -- GET ME MY ACIDOPHULUS!" I should just start putting her in the fridge as soon as the phone rings/I dial a number so that I don't have to wonder what all that racket in the kitchen is about.
Or that four year old that follows me around exhaling in a balloon, screeching the air out and then asking me politely (but loudly) if I would please blow his balloon up. Oh yeah, like I'm going to huff and puff into a rubber bag with a small opening and carry on a phone conversation. Balloons can wait. And so can those banana flavored pills.
So, back to the Round Up scene... after sitting at the computer for about 27 seconds which was also roughly about 25 seconds after I put Alex down on the floor, I begin reading that on skin contact, "No first aid procedures are required for Round Up. As a precaution, wash skin thoroughly with soap and water," I happen to jump up and remember that I have a 13 month old on the loose and the bathroom door was left open.
I make one step away from my computer (and breathing a sigh of relief that my child is going to survive the minimal contact that he may or may not have had with Round Up) just in time to see him splashing in a very unflushed toilet.
So, I guess I saved his life from the wolves only to hand him over to the lions on a shiny, silver platter. He may not be contaminated from toxic chemicals but toxic biological waste is a sure guarantee, thanks to the evidence I found on him.
I'm not risking utilizing Google's bar and the keys on this computer that would spell "my child played with pee" in case he decides to play with matches or stick a metal prong in an outlet or drink bleach or crawl out to the street or choke on a cheerio or do some other deadly thing while I'm checking on the procedure prescribed for urine smelling children. We'll just wash him up and keep him out of trouble instead.
(In case you're worried, the said child was sleeping through this whole post, safely and soundly.)