The 8th Sense

One of my greatest fears about being a mother is this: that the kid will get injured on my watch. I know, I know: all kids get hurt from time to time, even when parents are freakishly cautious. But, I would so rather it happen (since it's going to, anyway) on Tim's watch. Selfish? Yes. Ashamed? No!

So, a few weeks ago, I was at my mother's house visiting. My brother, his wife, and his son Isaiah (in October, he'll be 2) were also there. My nephew happily swept the carpets while I chatted with my brother (he likes brooms, for whatever reason). After a while, my nephew moved into the kitchen to spruce up the floors in there, as well. I could still see him from my position in the living room, so I wasn't worried. Besides, my brother and his wife had already put child-safety covers on all the electrical outlets and given my mother cabinet locks to install.

After a few minutes, though, I said, "I can't see Isaiah from here anymore."

My brother responded, "Don't worry about it. He's probably sweeping in the laundry room."

After a second's thought, I said, "Yeah, maybe. I'm just saying I can't see him anymore, so don't blame me if something happens to that kid."

My brother laughed, saying I was overly paranoid (which I am). He said words which now for him and I are immortal: "Isaiah's fine. I HAVE AN EIGHTH SENSE ABOUT THESE THINGS."

"OK," I said. My sister-in-law, I think, became uncomfortable with this assessment, so she took a step towards the kitchen. My brother didn't want her to get up (she was 9 months pregnant at the time), so he reluctantly went to the kitchen himself.

As soon as he walked in, I heard him say, "Oh." He followed it with a sort-of, "Uh." From his tone, I knew Isaiah wasn't just sweeping the floor anymore. "Can you come here for a minute?" my brother called to his wife. I told her not to get up (she was ordered to bed rest by her doctor, too, by the way), and I asked Tim to go instead.

Tim went, and I heard him say, "Ohhhh." Tim's not the dramatic sort, so to hear him sound puzzled was discomforting. As I came to find out, there was Isaiah on the floor, looking like the poster child for Poison Control. He was sitting in a pool of blue glass cleaner, with an almost-empty bottle nearby. When I walked in, my brother was already wiping him off while Tim searched for the number to Poison Control. I opened Isaiah's mouth and smelled for signs of ingestion. I remembered that my brother had commented a few days before that Isaiah hardly ever put anything into his mouth besides food; for some reason, he seemed to be able to tell the difference between food and non-food items. I hoped my brother was right. Isaiah was smiling and clearly happy with the attention. We changed his clothes, and while Tim conferred with a poison specialist, we asked the obvious question, "How did this happen?"

Turns out my mom needed a drill to install the cabinet locks and had been meaning to ask one of us to put them in for her. She put them in a drawer somewhere, and couldn't remember where she put them. In her defense, she had some medical problems at the time and had simply forgotten to take care of it. In her guilt, she searched the house top to bottom for the locks while we treated Isaiah, though I'm not sure how that helped at the time (sort of like buying a home security system the day after you've been robbed). She felt terrible, but so did the rest of us for being lax.

The good news is that Isaiah is fine. He never drank any of it. He just wanted to splash around in it, I suppose. The better news is that we all learned a little about trusting our "eighth sense." Enough time has passed now that I can tease my brother about his now-famous quote, but in the back of my mind, I wonder if I'll do the same sort of thing ...