Something you don’t want to hear while eating lunch with your two year old:
I tan’t bweathe thwu my nose betuz I put a tarrot up there.
A cooked carrot cube up the nostril. Nice. I looked with a flashlight, and thought I could see it. I tried for a short second to get it with tweezers and then I decided I could just be making things worse.
I called the doctor’s office, but they were closed for lunch. The answering service wasn’t supposed to give out advice. While I was on the phone with her, I had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Aviana told me, “Don’t laugh, Mama! Dis is serious!”
I decided to page our doctor, who never did call back. I spoke to my aunt, who’s a nurse. She said we’d shouldWhen Kevin got in for lunch I explained what had happened, and he didn’t seem to be at all concerned. She was breathing fine and acting normally.
I was worried she would end up with a carrot rotting in her sinus cavity.
He scoffed at me, and said I was just bored and looking for some excitement.
After the doctors got back from lunch, Kevin spoke with the nurse who said they couldn’t get her in today anyway. We’d have to take her to a walk-in clinic. Kevin talked me out of going, partly because we don’t have insurance, partly because she didn’t seem to be bothered by it, partly because, since I didn’t see her do it (and um, do you really think a carrot would even be in her nose if I had seen her do it?), he didn’t believe there was really a carrot in her nose.
He said if the carrot starts rotting in her head in a week, I can say “I told you so.”
I do think the carrot affected her brain, because that child could not make a wise choice all the rest of the day to save her life.
This morning at breakfast, Aviana told me, “Brielle got that carrot out of her nose. She just stuck her finger up dere, and it tame wight out.”
Kevin had put it on the counter for me to see. Thoughtful of him.
Aviana told me, “Better put that tarrot in the twash betuz it isn’t dood to eat any wonger.”