I've mentioned lately, dear reader (that's you, Mom. Thanks.), that Dylan is now mobile. She crawls like she's being chased and if this were August, I'd put good money on her to win the diaper-derby at the fair. But, it's not fair-time and all of her crawling has been indoors. Until today.
Today we changed her training routine and thought it would be fun to see how she did on grass. Kind of like running an American Thoroughbred on a European track. It was the first sunny day we've had in weeks and not having to worry about Dylan crawling too close to the wood stove or eating hibernating flies seemed like a great idea. Outside was gorgeous: no clouds, the snow was nearly melted off the lawn, and even my sick wife crawled out of bed to soak up some sun. Perfect. Right up until we watched, but could not stop, as Dylan put a big piece of the weird mushroom that grows on our lawn into her mouth.
We cleared out what we could and I rinsed her mouth with enough water to violate a few treaties of the Geneva Conventions. When Poison Control told me that I should drive, just not too fast, to the hospital, I started to worry. And for the next five hours, all Regina and I could do was worry.
I'd hoped this entry would be about the dinner we had at an Italian restaurant last Friday. Dylan, even with a cold, was on her game. She brought the word, "Hi," back to her vocabulary from a two week hiatus and used it on anyone who looked our way. She commanded attention like a kind and cute Tony Soprano. Waiters and waitresses smiled and waved and Dylan smiled and waved back. She even earned us a free dessert. Awesome doesn't describe it.
Instead of contemplating how I'd write about our perfect dinner out, I listened to a doctor tell us he wanted to put a big syringe full of liquid charcoal (suck-soup, we named it) up Dylan's nose and into her stomach. Dylan, we learned, doesn't like things shoved up her nose and into her stomach. Who'd of thought? Even after two shots of animal tranquilizer (Regina recognized the name from her vet-office days), the tube would not go in. Dylan, we learned next, likes getting an IV in her hand less than a tube up her nose. But that was the only option left and we watched, pale and terrified, as our baby had a needle stuck into a vein and a big dose of sedative was administered. Then she got her beloved nose tube and a tummy full of liquid charcoal.
I know there is something to be learned here, more than, "don't let baby eat weird mushrooms," but this wound is still too fresh to contemplate. So, for now, I'll check in on her and make sure she's sleeping soundly. Tomorrow, I'll see what I can do to rid the yard of fungi and hopefully we'll avoid another serving of suck-soup.