Bad Weekend

Crap, what a weekend.

I'm seriously questioning my daddy skills following two near disasters yesterday. The first scared most of the crap out of me and the second got everything that was left over.

Let's start with Sonwun. Sonwun likes mints, the Scotch mints, spearmint to be specific. Each ride in the van begins with the question, "Daddy, may I please have a mint."

Yes, we have worked on his pleases and thank-yous and we are quite proud of it.

But I digress.

He's been enjoying the mints for more than a year and we have become quite confident in his ability to enjoy them without choking. Well, yesterday he requested and received his mint and we were on our way to the store when I heard a gurgle-cry-moan from the back of the minivan. I looked around and there were tears flowing down his face and he was half crying, clearly having trouble. I yelled at him to speak, wanting to know he wasn't choking, and at the same time I was trying to look for a place to pull over. Speak, speak, speak!!

In the three or four seconds that it took me to pull off the road, I was going over anti-choking measures I'd learned when he was a year old. At that time, he was choking on some food at lunch. I called 911 that day and, by the time I was able to reach someone ("all of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line . . ." Seriously) I had turned him upside down and thumped him on the back. Technically, it was the wrong thing to do, but it turned out right. The food was dislodged and I stopped shaking about 8 hours later.

Immediately following that episode, I looked up choking and learned that, even at that age, I should have Heimliched him. I read up on the procedures, determined that if it ever happened again, I'd be ready.

SPEAK!!

Fortunately, yesterday, the Heimlich wasn't needed. He started speaking and crying and everything turned out fine. But it was about 10 seconds of pure terror for both of us.

And then it was Sontoo's turn. I was in the middle of cooking supper. Sonwun was watching Finding Nemo. Sontoo was upstairs exploring. The bathroom door was closed, so I knew he couldn't get into trouble. All of the other rooms have been toddler-proofed.

So I stepped outside for a minute and was sitting on the back steps when, off in the distance I heard a crash, a loud crash, and I heard a baby starting to cry. I wondered what was going on over in those apartments a block or two away. I didn't want to listen, so I went back inside and closed the door. But the sound didn't go away. In fact, it was louder.

I rushed upstairs to find Sontoo standing beside an overturned dresser. Thank goodness he wasn't under said dresser. But he was standing in a sea of broken glass. A glass jar that we'd been using as a piggy bank, an antique clock with a glass face, several little porcelain statues - all smashed and littering the carpet.

I scooped him up and started inventory. I was sure I was going to find blood somewhere, or at the very least a nasty bruise. But, miraculously, he was fine; not a scratch. I still don't know how he managed to pull the dresser over, but until I figure it out, that room will be off limits as well.

In spite of the fact that it all turned out well, I spent a rather sleepless night, getting up at 2 and 3 to check on Sontoo, thinking I might have missed something, expecting to find a bruise that took time to develop. I checked on him in his crib and then went downstairs to listen to him breathe through the baby monitor. It was a long night.

But this morning, everyone seems fine. I'm very tired and very leery about letting either one out of my sight. All part of being a daddy, I guess. Still, I can't wait 'til mommy gets home so that we can share the paranoia and the panic of parenthood together.

Four days, four hours, 28 minutes to go.