That One Time I Called Poison Control (Again)

Here's a riddle for you: what do you get when you cross a sick, delirious mother with a mischievous little toddler?

Another call to poison control. We've got a pretty sad track record over here.

It all started with an overly exhausting visit to the mall with my mom. There's something about trying to eat while ignoring all the stares at my screaming baby from fellow food courters that really takes it out of me. In an effort to silence Eli for a few minutes so we could eat, my mom got the brilliant idea to buy Eli an apple juice. He was so happy for the three minutes it took him to guzzle his drink. Then he screamed for more juice all the way home.

After putting Eli down for his nap, I sat on the couch and stared at the kitchen, wishing I could teleport myself five feet to make the brownies I planned to serve at pack meeting the next day. Just as I was blaming my fatigue on pregnancy, the craziest thing happened -- I gagged at the thought of making brownies. I began to fear my achy body was suffering from more than just pregnancy woes.

I suffered through the grueling process of mixing eggs into a cake mix as the aroma of brownies left a lump in my throat. Meanwhile, all of my muscles became sore, creepy crawlies invaded and my forehead rose to such temperatures it could have been used as a second oven.

With my treat finally made, I collapsed on the couch to simultaneously shiver and roast. After a half hour to recover, Eli was up from his nap being clingy and refusing to eat or play. I figured he was feeling the same way I was so I got up to get him some medicine.

It must have been the result of lying down for a while and then getting up that made me realize how badly I needed to go to the bathroom as I was giving Eli his dose of Tylenol. I put the bottle on the kitchen counter with the syringe next to it to remind me to wash the syringe off before putting everything away. Then I waddled to the bathroom.

When you're eight months pregnant, you get pretty efficient at bathroom breaks. Which is why it was so shocking to come out of the bathroom and find that in 30 seconds Eli had managed to slurp down a full ounce of Tylenol as if it was a juice box. And if you remember our lunch, you know that my kid can slurp juice pretty quick.

I screamed. Eli threw the Tylenol. It sprayed everywhere. I yelled, "Where's my phone?!?" as if Eli was going to answer me. But then I found it on my own.

I ran to the kitchen, disappointed to already be calling poison control for the second time in my life since my one child isn't even two yet. The lady on the phone was super sweet and nonjudgemental. I answered her questions as clearly as I could in my frazzled, fevered state.

After a series of detailed questions, and my child's fate resting in the diagnosis of a sweet lady at poison control, she said, "Well, the thing about Acetaminophen is that when there's an overdose, there aren't really any symptoms to let you know something's wrong. The liver just shuts down and it happens fast. But I think your little guy is going to be just fine."

She then proceeded to tell me that he would have had to have ingested two ounces before they would worry about it. Whew?

I stared at Eli for the next hour and engrained every moment into my memory -- thinking they could be my last moments with him. Because after I hung up the phone, the only thing I could remember her saying was that my child may drop dead from liver failure without warning.

Eli spent the hour happier than he had been all day. After all, he finally got that second serving of "juice" he'd been asking for since lunch.

The poison control lady eventually called back to assure me everything was going to be okay. I finally took her word for it and took a breath for the first time since the overdose.

Let's hope that's the last call I have to make to my good friends over at poison control. But just to be safe, I think I'll keep their number on my fridge for a few more years.