Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Adventures in Poison Control -or- My middle child
As I mentioned in my last post, Hoover's birthday is tomorrow. Five years ago right now, I was hooked up to some pitocin and watching TV. (Don't get the idea that he was the easiest child to have. More on that later.)
On this, the eve of Hooverness, I recall the fun and, at least, interesting details on his special day.
(Don't start skimming this post. There will be no grossity gross terms listed. Alluded to maybe, but not said directly.)
My water broke a month early, and my first thought was "[Jersey Shore fist pump] Yes! I won't be pregnant anymore!"
A long labor - 24 hours - and an emergency c-section later, Hoover entered the world. I saw his leg hanging off the scale before some very weird things started happening to me. And then I was out - for two hours. Disgruntled Husband says he left with the baby and saw three more surgeons rush in. Yeah, it was great.
When I woke up, I was still on the OR table. My wonderful doctor was one of the faces I saw still working on me, and I frazzled him so bad, I think he told me to stop asking so many questions.
At this point, I hadn't seen Hoover at all, minus that leg over the scale. When I got back to my room, I was visit by some MD jerk-off I nicknamed Dr. Golf Shirt. Seriously, I think I interrupted his shot at the Country Club championship or something. [Note: Three years later, Dr. Golf Shirt shows up after my daughter is born because he saw the name on the door. Turns out he and my husband went to college together. Why didn't he notice the name on the door with Hoover? Because he too busy calculating his handicap on the way in.]
Dr. Golf Shirt informs me that we need to give Hoover a name. I hadn't seen him yet. I say this. Dr. Golf Shirt insists we give him a name. Right. Then. I may have told him to stuff it, I don't remember. Then, he tells us that the yet-to-be-named Hoover has a heart murmur and probably has to go to a special hospital - an hour away.
Of course, I was hysterical. Five minutes later, a nurse brings in Hoover with an IV in his tiny little arm. No transport for him. Suck it, Dr. Golf Shirt.
[To this day, my doc shakes his head and says he doesn't know what the F this guy was talking about. No murmur.]
So, that's where I'm going to end my little birth story, but let me just throw a few Hoover statistics your way:
- He was the only one of my children to GAIN weight at the hospital
- He was the most expensive birth of the three kids. Topping off at about $40,000.
- He was my smallest baby (7lbs., 4 oz.), but will be the biggest when he's fully grown.
Looking back, I think "Only Hoover." I should have known by his birth that he would definitely be the kink in the system. He's my most physical, but my most snuggly, and definitely the hungriest. He gets hurt all the time and screams like he's on fire. Every time I've been at the ER with a kid, it's been him.
Which brings me to the title. On facebook tonight, I posted a question of "What happened 3 years ago today?"
It was our first call to Poison Control. The day before his 2nd birthday, he squirted Lysol Kitchen Cleaner in his eyes. We couldn't get to him fast enough.
And yes, that said first call. There have been more. Let's just say that once he started climbing, there wasn't a cabinet high enough or a lock hard enough.
And, he learned to work a screwdriver before he was 2. ::Sigh:: I can't even tell you about all the battery-operated toys that are now backless. And he also took apart his doorknob. I take away the screwdrivers every time, but he must go on a screwdriver safari when I fold laundry.
His nickname is Hoover because he can suck food up like a vacuum. The call from a friend who was watching him while we were dealing with Larry Potter's surgery was priceless. She also has a son the same age and they were just over a year and she was feeding them baby food. "He just keeps going. What do I do?!" She asked excitedly. Apparently Hoover ate his little buddy under the table.
That's my boy.