Just Poison, Mom

I have been crazy busy the last little while. As a result, my kiddos have sometimes tended themselves for a little while. The eleven-year-old is very responsible and usually does a great job of taking care of his little sisters. The other day, though, I had to wonder if I’d made a good choice in leaving him in charge.

I got home, hugged everyone and told the two-year-old it was time to get ready for bed. As I got her pajamas and a diaper out, I lifted up her dress and found the cutest little bare bum greeting me.

“Why did you take off your diaper?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to,” she responded.

Then, the question I dreaded: “Did you make pee-pee on the floor?”

“Only on the stairs, Mom. It’s OK.”

Well, I had a different opinion about what was OK. I looked on the stairs, the stairs I had just paid a lot to have cleaned, and found a lovely wet puddle. She was quite accurate. Just on the stairs.

After I had the puddle cleaned up, I proceeded to get her dressed. I noticed the cuffs of her long sleeves were wet.

“What’s on your sleeves?” I asked. I really probably didn’t want to know, but I asked anyway.

“Just some poison, Mom. It’s OK,” answered my sweet little two-year-old.

“Did you drink some?” I asked, my voice rising an octave to match my racing heart.

“Yeah, just a little,” she replied.

I tore off the dress, ran to the eleven-year-old with the phone and poison control number in one hand ready to dial asking, “What does she mean she drank poison? Were you even watching her at all? What happened?”

“Oh, that,” he replied, not even looking up from his tablet.

“Yes, that!” I screamed. “I need to know what she drank so I can call poison control!”

“We had to wash her hands because she spilled milk all over them. She tried to drink the wash water, you know, like she does.”

I did know, unfortunately. I put down the phone and took a deep breath. Our bathroom sink has been stopped up for a while. It drains very slowly. Two-year-old has been taking cups, dipping them in her wash water and then drinking them. I know, I nearly vomited the first time I saw it, too.

I tried to tell her it was yucky. That wasn’t enough. Finally, I told her it was poison. That seemed to get through more, but apparently not enough. She still tries to drink “poison” soapy water when I’m not home.

My cute little stinker may be too much for anyone to handle, myself included. My eleven-year-old actually did as good a job as can be expected.


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