By Jessica Harmon
It was just another chaotic Friday evening. I returned home from work to find my husband, a dedicated stay-at-home dad, looking thoroughly wiped out from wrangling our energetic toddler all day. As soon as I unloaded the groceries from the car, he promptly declared he was “tagging out” for a much-needed nap.
Being the supermom that I am, I had anticipated this moment and grabbed a rotisserie chicken from Costco, despite my husband’s usual complaints about it not being organic. But honestly, tonight’s menu was all about convenience—bring on the antibiotic- and hormone-laden chicken!
I set the table wearing my delightful Wonder Woman pajamas while my son devoured his Costco chicken, Costco croissant, and a Costco organic Fuji apple. Meanwhile, I noticed the growing pile of stuff on the kitchen table. Oh look, the picture frames I ordered for his school photos! Perfect! I thought, I can frame those while he finishes eating. I’m such a multitasker, right? This totally makes up for that chemically-infused dinner.
With my husband snoozing in our room and my son stuffing his face, I quickly remembered I had to use the bathroom. I moved my son’s food out of reach and reminded him to swallow what was in his mouth—because, you know, supermom instincts. I flipped on the TV, tuned to the endless Paw Patrol reruns, and dashed off to the bathroom. Yes, I called it the “potty.”
I was gone for no more than a couple of minutes—just enough time to pee and wash my hands. When I returned, there was my little troublemaker, surrounded by the crumpled remains of the picture frame packaging. I still have no clue how he managed to reach them.
He was trying to hand me something, and I initially thought it was just a piece of cardboard. But as I bent down to take it, he chirped, “I ate it.” At that moment, I realized he was holding one of those pesky silica gel packets that scream “DO NOT EAT” in big letters.
I snatched it from his hand, feeling for any moisture. Luckily, it was dry and intact. Thank goodness! But when I asked him if he put it in his mouth, he confidently replied, “Yes, I ate it.” That’s when I spotted the empty silica gel packet on the table, a corner missing and damp with his saliva, with a few of those tiny beads rolling around.
I can’t fully describe what happened next—I just went into full-on panic mode. Adrenaline surged through me; I screamed for my husband and began frantically searching my son’s mouth for the beads while unbuckling him from his booster seat.
My husband, blissfully unaware with his earplugs in, didn’t wake until I burst into the room, flipped on the lights, and demanded he get up immediately. I plopped our little mischief-maker onto the bed and explained the situation in a rush. I raced for my phone, couldn’t find it, and then sprinted back to grab my husband’s. Thankfully, he’s always prepared, and Poison Control was conveniently in his contacts.
Unlike 911, Poison Control picked up right away. A calm and friendly voice answered, “Poison Control,” and I blurted out, “My toddler ate a silica gel packet.” Mentally, I was already swapping out of my Wonder Woman pajamas, convinced I didn’t deserve to wear them anymore, and planning the quickest route to the children’s hospital.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured me, “This is actually one of our most common calls. He’s fine, I promise.” She went on to explain that the warning on the packet is due to choking hazards, not toxicity. As long as he’s breathing and not in distress, he’s perfectly okay. After some quick information exchange, she hung up.
By then, my husband had joined me and could tell I was visibly relieved. I relayed the reassuring news, placed his phone back on the counter, and then lost it—full-on, snot-dripping ugly cry. Clearly, I wasn’t worthy of those Wonder Woman pajamas.
To make matters worse, I turned around to see my little guy picking up the silica beads off the floor and popping them into his mouth. We quickly cleared his mouth and whisked him out of the room while we cleaned up the mess, and I cried a bit more. He could have been in real trouble.
My husband took a moment to comfort me, saying, “He was never in any danger. He’s alright. I’m going to do the laundry now. Please try not to let him die while I’m gone.”
It was just another typical Friday night. When I think about it, I’ve survived countless nights like this, and so has my son. Maybe, just maybe, I do deserve those Wonder Woman pajamas after all.
But seriously, enough with that silica gel!
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