Nostalgia poked around in my head today. I miss my little boys - they are still little, butI love the first stage of life - the one where they are like caterpillars - inching around on the ground. I miss the way words come together in funny ways.
I was thinking about the times when I got a little freaked out by events that had taken place and how they passed miraculously without any major injury or illness. One time, in Colorado, I was taking an oil painting class and I was doing a landscape painting in a local park. In order to finish it I had to go to the park with Ben, who was 1 1/2 years old. Ben was barely walking at that point and his life still revolved around what was on the ground. On the ground was a lot of goose poop. I picked a spot that was somewhat clear of goose poop and I set Ben up with some toys.
After a short while I heard a sound that I did not want to hear - Ben was making that "num, num, num" eating sound. Normally I love that sound. I love it when children hum and grunt while they eat... it is a pleasurable sound - we should all do that. However, it is not reccomended to make that sound while eating goose poop.
I grabbed him and pinched his cheeks so I could get easy access to the goose poop that he was swirling around in his mouth. YUCK! I flushed his mouth out with water, ruining Ben's fun. He was obviously enjoying the goose poop, not the cleaning process.
We left right away. I could paint another day. I called Mike and told him what had happened. He of course reacted like any concerned first parent would react - with terror. Should I take him to the doctor right away? We analyzed the contents of goose poop - grass, grubs, stuff that people in third world countries might eat. Hopefully his stomach would be able to handle it and hopefully I had reacted quick enough to remove most of the poop.
Needless to say he was fine. He is fine. Just one of those crazy parenting experiences.