I wrote the following in March 2012, got around to posting it in October 2013...
On Sons
Or more specifically, my son. It feels a little like "all Ian, all the time" around the blog these days. He's verbal, he's funny, and he has such an energy that he's hard to ignore. Which brings me to a recent Saturday
We were at Chris' parents house, toward the end of the day. As it was already past 5, we decided to feed the kids before we left. As we cleaned up, the kids scattered for a few more moments of play. Normal stuff, until grandma Sally walked in holding three small (and empty) syringes.
"Ian was on the bed with these and said 'I'm sorry' when I found him." she said she thought that one of these had been filled before. With his grandfather's liquid morphine.
Frantic running. I went to the bed. I felt the blanket and finally took a breath when I found it wet. Chris located Ian. I scooped him up and in my most calm happy voice asked if he'd emptied the syringe. He happily said he had.
"did you get it on the blanket?"
"yah."
"did you taste any?"
"no"
Okay, good.
Crisis averted, we calmed enough to remember that liquid morphine tastes bitter. Even if he'd tasted it he would be unlikely to want a whole dose. And the dose to which he had access is small to begin with.
Still. This is the kid who tried to climb a shelf last year, biting clean through a third of his tongue. The only one of the three who has been in the ER. The one who thinks a flying leap off the couch is an appropriate hello.
I'm not grey yet, but I think now may be the time to buy stock in Clairol.
We were at Chris' parents house, toward the end of the day. As it was already past 5, we decided to feed the kids before we left. As we cleaned up, the kids scattered for a few more moments of play. Normal stuff, until grandma Sally walked in holding three small (and empty) syringes.
"Ian was on the bed with these and said 'I'm sorry' when I found him." she said she thought that one of these had been filled before. With his grandfather's liquid morphine.
Frantic running. I went to the bed. I felt the blanket and finally took a breath when I found it wet. Chris located Ian. I scooped him up and in my most calm happy voice asked if he'd emptied the syringe. He happily said he had.
"did you get it on the blanket?"
"yah."
"did you taste any?"
"no"
Okay, good.
Crisis averted, we calmed enough to remember that liquid morphine tastes bitter. Even if he'd tasted it he would be unlikely to want a whole dose. And the dose to which he had access is small to begin with.
Still. This is the kid who tried to climb a shelf last year, biting clean through a third of his tongue. The only one of the three who has been in the ER. The one who thinks a flying leap off the couch is an appropriate hello.
I'm not grey yet, but I think now may be the time to buy stock in Clairol.
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