Dear Marshall,
I don’t dare relax when watching you. Some people might call me hypervigilant, but you see, I know a few things about you.
- If there’s anything dangerous around, you’ll find it.
- Everything goes into your mouth.
Yesterday, you were playing in the child-proofed dining room while I was cooking in the kitchen. I noticed that you were making noises like your mouth was full and my “something’s not right” bump started to itch. I said, “What do you have in your mouth?” It’s a valid question, but the stupidest thing I could possibly ask you, since you always take it as a cue to run. So I chased you around the table a few times, finally caught up with you, and stuck my finger into your mouth. Thanks for biting me, by the way.
What I found was a small piece of broken glass. And I could tell, as soon as I let you go, that you still had something in your mouth. So around and around we went again, and with new toothmarks on my finger, I pulled out another chunk of glass, this one rather large. The glass was fractured, so I figured the first small piece had broken off of it. But that made me wonder, did you swallow any other small pieces?
After many phone calls, tears, and a trip to the urgent medical care office, the simple answer was this: if you had swallowed any, it would probably just pass through you harmlessly. Lucky for you, it was like safety glass, not terribly sharp.
I was relieved, but not relaxed. Never relaxed. I know you too well. And I love you all the more for it.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Your father and I still have no idea where you found the glass.