A side of soap for breakfast
by Jennifer Cohron
Aug 12, 2012 | 1122 views | 0 0 comments | 11 11 recommendations | email to a friend | print
Jennifer Cohron
Jennifer Cohron
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Pride goeth before a fall, especially in parenting.

While I am never going to claim that I have it all figured out, I thought I had at least learned when Wyatt had made it through a certain stage, such as putting things in his mouth. Then he digested some soap last week, making himself sick and me look bad.

The fun started on Sunday morning.

Wyatt woke up early and immediately wanted to brush his teeth. He emerged from the bathroom with a set of pearly whites and a small piece of soap that he had picked off of the bar on the sink.

A few minutes later, I confiscated the soap shaving from Wyatt’s forehead.

We went shopping as a family that morning to pick up a few things that Zac had forgotten while making out our grocery bill on Saturday.

We were already running late getting ready for church because of that excursion when Zac discovered the source of our recent gnat problem – two bags of rotten potatoes under the kitchen sink.

I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving that mess for another few hours, so we quickly tag teamed the cleanup of the kitchen floor and counters while Wyatt played in the living room.

When I stepped in to check on him once, I thought I saw something white on the tip of his tongue.

“Wyatt, do you have something in your mouth?” I said in my best mad Mama voice.

He flashed me one of his famous grins and then stuck out his tongue to prove his innocence.

I forgot about the earlier incident with the soap until I tried to put Wyatt’s shoes on him several minutes later.

He fussed, which wasn’t unusual, but his cry sounded odd to me. He jumped off my lap and took two steps toward the kitchen. Then he turned back toward me and burped.

Something about that burp made me think he might have something stuck in his throat. I sat down in the floor next to him and was just about to pat him on the back when the spewing started.

Wyatt has vomited only three times in his young life. Coincidentally, each time has been on me.

Zac, a.k.a. Super Dad, arrived in the living room in a single bound and started scrubbing the carpet while I cleaned up Wyatt and myself.

I told Zac that Wyatt must have swallowed the piece of soap he had been playing with earlier, but I needed to be sure because we were also keeping a check on a possible spider bite that had appeared on his face the day before.

Although we tried to be gentle with our interrogation techniques, Wyatt immediately went into his “I’m in trouble” mode — hands resting at his sides, eyes staring at the floor and mouth shut tight.

Eventually, we got him to admit that he had inadvertently washed his own mouth out with soap.

We watched him closely for the rest of the day, but he never threw up again or showed any other signs of illness. In fact, he was bouncing off the walls within minutes of getting sick.

When I called my mother to tell her that we wouldn’t be coming to church, her grandson seemed to take great pleasure in trying to recreate his burp for her and telling her that something had shot out of his nose.

Other little boys are made of slugs, snails and puppy dog tails. Mine seems to be made of tractors, trains and Dial soap.