If you know that number then you are in good company, friend. Because I, too, know that number. I first learned it a few years ago. And now, I have been made even more aware due to the recent naptime shenanigans of the middlest.
Because that. Well. That is the number to Poison Control. And I keep it on my refrigerator for all of the just in case moments. Of course, knowing that I am far too vigilant, attentive, and helicopteresque to ever have any reason to ever actually have to dial it on my phone {ahem.}. Because, like any good mother, I always know what my kids are doing. And I relish spending every minute following them around. And I never look forward to the down time that is offered by one, two, or three little boys resting in their beds… alone.
And because of my stellar parenting practices, I am able to offer you this very useful piece of advice: Never ignore your nose. Should you ever, upon walking into your child’s room post-nap, find yourself wondering why it smells like you’ve just emptied your grandmother’s pockets into a dirty diaper… Question that. Never ignore the overwhelming melange of scents including those of cough lozenges and poo. Curious scents should set you out on a fact finding mission. Instead of doing what I did, which was, changing the diaper, telling myself that diaper just happened to be a doozy, and went on my merry way.
Never ignore your nose.
Because, when 10 minutes later, your toddler informs you that he puked in his bed, which reminds you again of that curious scent, and so you immediately bolt up the stairs, throw open his bedroom door, run to the bed, search for vomit, and though you can’t locate any remnants of a vom bomb but still smell that smell… that medicine cabinet freshness… you will only think one thing when you look over at the nightstand and discover this…
And that one thing. That one thing that I silently thought… MOTHER TRUCKING VAPORUB!!! That was the scent!!! The scent permeating throughout every inch of the room. And why was that the scent? Because the previously half-full container was now open. Shmootzy. And empty. Empty as the tomb on Easter morning. And I thought, Either the VapoRub has risen from the dead OR my toddler has rubbed it all over every nook and cranny.
I told myself, very nicely, Self. Do not lose your shit here. Stay calm. Stay cool. What’s the worst thing that could have happened?
“J…. sweetie…. I didn’t see any signs of getting sick in your bed. But I did find this… were you playing a game with the VapoRub?”
“Yeah.”
“Ohhhh-k. That’s not something we should do. This isn’t something we should play with.”
“I didn’t play with it, mommy.”
“Well then where did it go, baby?”
“In my mouth,” says the little boy. Grinning wider than wide has ever been seen.
“WHA? You ate it? You ate it. You ate the VapoRub?”
“Yeah. It tastes yummmmmmmmy!”
“Okay. We never ever ever ever eat that sweetie. Do you feel okay? How much of it would you say you put in your mouth?”
“All of it. I did this. And this. And this. {rubbing hands on his tongue, over and over again}.”
“Mama needs to make a phone call.”
Sooooooo. Yeeeeeaaaaah. He ate the VapoRub. Or Walgreen’s Baby Chest Rub, as it were. Half of a container. At least. And had no signs of stomach upset. Which is astounding. And, if you’re curious, Vaporub, as it turns out {and according to the lovely people at Poison Control}, is extremely low in toxicity, specifically the Walgreens brand. And also, to a three year old, apparently quite tasty.
I did notice later that his hair was excessively shiny. So I am hopeful that he did not ingest the entire amount that we had on hand. But with toddler fact relaying abilities, I’m not sure I’ll ever know the entire story. But all’s well that ends well, right? Just nod your head and smile, friends. If I’m being completely honest, I actually felt pretty good about the whole situation. Because I managed to not completely flip my lid. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t cry {no. I am serious.}. I didn’t get dragged away by CPS. And my son’s breath is minty fresh. And boom goes the dynamite.