Take Monday, for instance. I took my toddler to the doctor because she had a scary-looking dime-sized ulcer on her face, near her eye.
I know many of you are related to me. We’re like family. And that’s why I’m sharing. You can warn people too. But my shirt is occupied. You’ll have to get your own.
Thank you for allowing me to repost a few of my favorite posts from my Archives on my old Mac blog. This was originally posted in March.
I was wandering down my daily blogroll when I came to this post by Heather J over in Jirkaville. It was riveting.
I was un-bathed. Pajama-clad (actually I lost my pj bottoms somewhere along the way of rushing my older kids out the door) so, I was half-naked. My priorities were in order: I was reading other people’s business before I took care of my own.
My one year old sat in my lap while I worked on my laptop at the kitchen counter. My baby likes to dig thru the drawer while I blog away.
As I intently read, I was moved to tears by Heather’s post . My daughter started squirming, so I sat her on the floor. She had a plastic thingy in her hand. At least that’s what I thought it was.
4.5 seconds later, she started screaming.
I whipped around and IN-SLOW-MOTION-BECAUSE-I’M-A-SLOW-THINKER, I realized that the said plastic-thingy was SUPERGLUE.
I scooped her up and ran to the kitchen sink.
These words are FLASHING in my head:
YOU ARE NOT MATURE ENOUGH TO BE A MOTHER. FIND AN ADULT IMMEDIATELY.
My daughter’s hands were covered in Superglue AND her lips were glued closed.
Let me just pause and LET THAT SINK IN.
Baby. Lips. Glued. FOR ETERNITY. Jesus, help me.
I’m crying, she’s crying, I’m splashing water on both of us. Praying for help, begging for forgiveness. It did dawn on me in a surreal way, how perfectly still my child became. She knew it was bad. And I think she was hoping for another adult to arrive.
The warm water and a little pressure helped part her crusty lips. THANK GOD.
She didn’t ingest the glue and that seemed to be very good news.
I nearly passed out when I heard the key in the front door.
A host of heavenly angels ushered my dear hubby into the kitchen in search of something he’d forgotten. He saw the superglue, our crusty, sticky hands and his baby’s lips and took over.
I googled, “Baby lips and super glue.” Which I’m sure helped Child Protective Services hone in on my whereabouts.
And I’m sure this was an internet first.
According to reliable resources, acetone is the enemy to superglue. It’s the kryptonite to the Super mega adhesive.
Thank GOD, I paint my nails.
We dipped cotton into nail polish remover and scrubbed. My one year old perfected her dirty look and my husband didn’t even ask how it happened.
Which now, I find disturbing. He returns home to find his daughter’s life in mortal danger under my care and it doesn’t even surprise him.
We cleaned her up as much as possible.
“I’ve got to get to work,” my husband said as he grabbed his jacket.
“What? You can’t leave me. I cannot be trusted. It’s not even 8:30 a.m and I nearly wounded your baby,” I said as I grabbed his pant leg and held on for dear life.
He smiled at me. And left.
I checked on that girl 432 times during her morning nap. The entire time I couldn’t help to think about the wisdom of these words: KEEP OUT OF THE REACH OF CHILDREN.
And, all I have to say is they will let anyone be a mother these days.