There are about 5,000 sayings about second-born children. Usually they’re something along the lines of, “your first-born convinces you to be brave enough for more than one child, but it’s a trick from mother nature into convincing you to keep reproducing because hold on tight when the second comes around.” Or something similar with the summation that second-born kids are bonkers.
When my second-born came along, I could smugly side-eye these sayings. My first was a colicky baby and it was no walk in the park. But, because of that, I was well-read in the millions of “methods” and schedules and attempts at normalcy with a newborn. And when #2 rolled around, he popped right onto a schedule and- I kid you not- he was a WONDERFUL sleeper. A baby who sleeps well is probably the best baby in the world, so I was golden.
Fast forward 15 months later. A light switch flipped on, and my second-born got the memo. Or Karma caught up with me, either one. He started walking and as soon as he discovered that he didn’t need me to facilitate his movement, he was off. He has that little glimmer in his eye that sparkles when he senses trouble. He has mastered that special grin reserved only for the naughty. And I was in over my head.
Twelve parenting books and twenty baby gates later, we still haven’t lassoed our wild one. One of the best solutions for everyone involved is providing a “yes” space (also known as a playroom). A space where I’m not constantly shrieking, “NO!” and the kids are generally safe and able to explore without interruption or heavy supervision. We had our house pretty well baby proofed and secure as we went along and we had a pattern. But that’s not how this story goes.
We recently moved, and our “yes” space was a little less contained. Boundaries haven’t fully been set at the new house yet. So about two weeks in to our new home (which is Open Concept and OMG How do people live like this?!) It was bedtime for teething baby #3. I had cordoned off the “safer” area for the kids to be contained in- but that also included the kitchen. (Picture me typing this story, face-palming at my past-self-decisions and not seeing the obvious.)
As I bring the baby upstairs for bed after a dose of Tylenol to help his teething and prevent him from waking up all night long, I leave the older toddlers in the living room with Netflix to babysit. Everything was more or less a normal night (read: I was getting crabby and it was bedtime O’clock). I come downstairs to see the sibling teamwork at play as they had climbed the counter to empty a package of cookies and dole them out between the two of them. Chocolate chip- melty- in our new white living room. I have a temper tantrum and it’s early bedtime for the ringleader (He may cause trouble, but he’s honest- “I did it!”).
After an hour of bedtime struggle, leaving us past actual bedtime since I had to enforce the early bedtime, I make it back downstairs to the last one awake. They share a room so I wanted to give it some buffer time between bedtimes in order to discourage more hullabaloo, so I turn on another show for my oldest and get to cleaning up the crime scene and dinner remainders.
And then I see it.
I go to casually pick up the baby’s brand new Tylenol that my super-husband thoughtfully ran an extra errand for. It was laying on it’s side against the cabinetry floor molding. And then my stomach dropped.
It was empty.
I usually am completely useless in emergency situations and scream for my husband and excuse myself from the room (I’m really that awful with them). But he wasn’t home tonight and I just knew what to do- the very first thing I did after picking up that empty Tylenol was grab my cell and google Poison Control’s number.
Ringing.
“Hi. I’m not really sure if this the number I should be calling or if I should be calling our general nurse line.”
“They usually direct you to us, so let’s see how we can help you. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Well. My two-year-old just drank an entire bottle of baby Tylenol about an hour ago. It had the baby proof cap on and sealed but he got it off! He’s sleeping now. What do I do?”
Our conversation ensued. She apologized for the steps that were required because she clearly knows what moms are about, and she knew that waking him up was the LEAST favorite idea among the mom club. I then was asked his weight, which of course I had no idea of (he turns three in under a month- so his last checkup was nearly a year ago). And mayhem ensues. Just about everything that could be going wrong was indeed going wrong- I tried logging in his MyChart to check his two-year-old weight and to go off of that, but our internet was down because I was messing with it earlier. So I go and wake up my father (who we live with) and ask if he has a scale (my husband and I don’t for some reason?). It’s a smart scale and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to turn the dang thing on. (Turns out you tap it once and then step on… so not that smart.) So the extremely gracious and patient Becky at Poison Control tells me that she will go off of the average weight of a three-year-old. (Which we concluded was a very conservative and safe estimate because my son is around the 90th percentile in his weight.)
After she got all of the information, she entered it into some sort of equation based on the specific concentration and amount of Tylenol ingested and then provided me a course of action and plan for the night.
She also informed me that the caps are NOT baby proof- they’re just resistant to try to deter babies or toddlers. But special, MacGyver, determined tots can indeed pop those off just fine.
If he were smaller or younger, he would need to go into the ER immediately for a certain drug or IV treatment to counteract the Tylenol and prevent liver failure. Since he was within a specific limit, we were able to keep him home under observation- awake- for four hours following ingestion. (AKA keeping a two-year-old awake until 11 PM when he usually is in bed no later than 7.) If he had any digestive symptoms like puking, we had to bring him to the ER immediately and call Becky right back.
We followed the course of action, and thankfully no symptoms arose. We also made a new course of action for bedtime at home which involved baby-gating the toddlers into an actual playroom that was safe and within earshot of the baby’s nursery so I could hear any ruckus.
In the end, he was fine. We were all fine. And I was surprised that it was my first call to Poison Control. I figured that they would be a little more judge-y, but Becky was as sweet as can be and helped me keep my cool when I felt like crawling in a hole as The Worst Mom Ever.
The folks at Poison Control are wonderful! I, too, thought they’d be judge-y. (We had a maybe-baby-ate-some-adult-Advil moment!) I definitely recommend calling, even for a “little” thing. They are fabulous!
We had our first brush with Poison Control this fall–for our 13 year old! Long story really short, but she had an apparent brain STOP and decided to try taste a plant in the backyard of a friend of hers. Her mouth started tingling and the parents of the friend got worried and called Poison Control! 🙂 At least you have the excuse of a not quite 3 year old doing a “naughty” thing. We had a should-have-known-better 13 year old do the boneheaded thing! Glad your son is fine and that everything turned out well. Motherhood is hard… but so rewarding too.