April 30, 2013
While at Sprouts Hudson ate half a bottle of homeopathic pain medicine.
He was playing with the bottle while sitting quietly in the cart. I was gently squeezing avocados swaying subconsciously back and fourth; the way mothers do when they are holding babies. Because I was wearing Silas like a front backpack. A frontpack? Silas had busy hands too, grabbing at the avocados when one came close to his grasp. He would extend his chubby arms out and would miss in slow motion as I bagged the fruit.
I gathered my produce, and finally turned to Hudson to realize that he had gotten the plastic seal off the medicine and now was sitting in a pool of white tablets. He quickly shoved at least three in his mouth when his eyes met mine, as if he was starved for pain killers. As if he finally got a taste of their undeniable sweetness, and now it was all he wanted in life. Around his lips and down his neck was a frothy trail as the chalky pills dissolved in his mouth. I panicked.
How many did you eat?!
I don’t know.
Hudson! These are medicine? Why did eat them?!
I don’t know.
Oh My GOD, HUDSON! I can’t believe you ate these. What were you thinking?! How many did you have?
I don’t know.
I grabbed the bottle and kept turning it over again in my hands to see if it would tell me what to do. I glanced awkwardly up at strangers prepared to laugh uncomfortably and explain what had happened to them, but no one seemed to notice or care that my 3-year-old just over-dosed on medicine. Their faces seemed to read, This is Orange County, everyone here is medicated.
I kicked the remaining pills under the wooden bin where the tomatoes were displayed, ducked into the cracker and tortilla chip isle, and called poison control.
Their number is saved on my phone. Because this is not Hudson’s first incident. The first time I called, he was a mere 9 months old, and had gotten a hold of my whiskey drink at a party. A few months later he sat playfully on the kitchen floor drenched in Goo-Gone while sucking on the side of the oily bottle. And then a few months after that he opened my hot pink nail polish and painted his toes, his mouth, the wood floors, and the couch with the bright pink color.
I was well acquainted with poison control. They are calm, friendly, and answer on the first ring. It’s like the complete opposite of calling me.
Turns out Hudson could have eaten the entire bottle of medicine without a single side effect. Well, maybe he would get a little wave of nausea. “But if he only ingested half the bottle, you should’t worry.” The man on the other side of the phone call reassured me.
I deeply exhaled as I hung up with him.
I guess I assumed that Hudson being three now, meant that he was less likely to get into these poison-control-type-situations. I guess I thought he had more self-control. I guess I was wrong.
Have you had to call poison control? What types of things have your kids gotten into?