Let's just say, it started with a call to Poison Control.
No, wait. Back up. It started when Lydia woke up at 5 a.m. and never really went back to sleep. The Poison Control phone call was a couple of hours later.
A mixture of diluted hydrogen peroxide and water left carelessly in a cup on the counter (by me), was assumed (by my husband) to be remnants of Lydia's drinking water from that morning, so when she reached for it on the counter, he handed it over.
I walked into the kitchen a few minutes later to see her holding this cup and started to panic. Although it seems hydrogen peroxide can't be too deadly (I know several people who rinse and spit the stuff to get rid of mouth sores) I read the label anyway and placed the call to Poison Control.
The woman was very helpful and told me if she was going to have any problems it would likely be within the next hour and it would probably only cause her to throw up.
Time elapsed. I went to work and left her with my mother-in-law for the day. She hadn't gotten sick. It seemed the worst was behind us.
Of course not.
I left work early to pick Lydia up to get her to an appointment with an allergist. We've had some indications that she might have some food allergies so after waiting 3 months to get into this particular doctor, we were finally on our way to some concrete answers.
As we left, my mother-in-law told me that if Lydia didn't poop the rest of the day it was probably because she'd refused to eat anything but American cheese slices all day (gross!) and she'd had 11 slices.
Eleven?!
Two-year-olds can be so finicky.
Pulling into the parking lot of what I thought was the correct building I proceeded to unbuckle Lydia from her carseat. Before I reached in to pull her out, she projectile vomited ALL over the car, her clothes, her car seat... EVERYTHING!
I pulled her out into the parking lot, stripped her down and made a feeble attempt to wipe up some of the mess before I realized I did not have nearly enough wipes or any other supplies to deal with the problem. Plus, I didn't want to be late for the appointment that took 3 months to get into.
The smell would have to wait.
I called Derek and asked him to bring her a change of clothes and wrapped Lydia in the only thing I had in my car — a large Mexican picnic-type blanket — and hauled her diaper bag laden with toys, my purse and all 32 pounds of her into what turned out to be the
wrong building.
Chastising myself for not exercising more frequently I huffed and puffed my way over to the next building and up to the third floor.
I can only imagine what the receptionist at the doctor's office thought when she saw this harried mother and her naked urchin child stumbling in.
I quickly explained what had happened, lest she be tempted to call Child Protective Services or something, and then I cuddled Lydia in the waiting room while she told me over and over how she "spilled" in the car and that her clothes were dirty.
Poor little thing.
Derek arrived, his armor shimmering under the fluorescent lights, his white horse waiting just outside. We quickly dressed Lydia and then he went out to wipe down the car and take it to a nearby car wash to have it detailed.
In the meantime, Lydia and I endured the allergist appointment -- a test I've been dreading but after everything we'd lived through, it seemed like a breeze. Ironically Poison Control called me back while we were in the doctor's office to see if Lydia was doing OK. I explained that she'd gotten sick but they said the time frame was far more likely related to something she ate (maybe 11 slices of American cheese?) than to the hydrogen peroxide.
The bad news at the end of the doctor's appointment confirmed our suspicions that this little girl has a peanut allergy.
I am really sad.
I realize that in the scheme of things that could be wrong with your child this is absolutely miniscule and my heart truly goes out to several friends who I know are dealing with FAR weightier issues than this. Still, all I could think of suddenly were all the foods we typically enjoy that have peanuts/peanut butter in them. I just hate to have anything wrong with her, no matter how insignificant.
The last straw of the night came when we headed to have some blood work done on Lydia to corroborate the allergy skin test. I absolutely loathe having my blood drawn so I was already feeling a little woozy walking into the lab. Then, to have to hold my daughter in a tight hug while Derek attempted to distract her and two phlebotomists maneuvered the needle into her arm -- it was almost too much.
She screamed bloody murder.
I managed not to cry until I was in the car.
The good news is, the day eventually ended. We picked up our car which smelled fresh and clean and headed home with Lydia proudly displaying the special bandage she received at the blood lab.
She is such an angel. Even on the worst of days, I am so grateful to be her mother.
