Yesterday, I stayed home sick with a sinus/respiratory infection. I felt so bad, I couldn’t finish the coffee Chad made me – which is unusual (the fact that I couldn’t finish it – not the fact that he made it for me). But, I went to the doctor, got medicine, and steeled myself for Halloween festivities.
Last night was a night of several firsts. It was the first Halloween where Cade was old enough to understand the correlation between the words “trick or treat” and the release of candy from grown-ups’ hands into his candy bag. It was also the first Halloween after we discovered his peanut allergy. We kept a watchful eye on him the whole night because he’s a bit of a kleptomaniac. And he’s very fast. He can have candy open and consumed before you can twinkle your nose.
We always go to our church for Trunk Or Treat and when it was all over, we counted it a great success and loaded kids up in the truck to grab some dinner. We hear Cole say, “Cade, where did you get that Butterfinger?” and Chad and I go into panic mode. Chad flies across the truck Dukes of Hazzard-style and I crush Stone in an effort to get across the back seat to where Cade is. We get the offensive candy out of his hands, but not until he’s had at least a bite of it.
Ok, we tell ourselves – this isn’t too bad. Cade’s reaction to peanuts is usually lots of grumpiness, crying to the point of hysteria, and an asthmatic response that requires a breathing treatment. It isn’t a rush-to-the-ER, epipen-to-the-jugular situation. I'm rereading that last sentence and thinking maybe I watch too much TV...
We get home, feed the kids, and put them to bed. Everything seems ok. Until the crying starts from Cade’s room. He tells us he doesn’t feel good in a tone that is heart-breaking. We hold him, rock him, let him watch TV with us for a little while. He tells me, “I want to go to my bed” and I take him then I go to bed myself. Not more than 5 minutes later, he’s crying again. Chad brings him to me and he stays for about 5 minutes then starts crying again. He wants to go back to his room. I take him and try to rub his back and he’s flipping over and over again like he’s had baby-speed. I think – ugh! – is this too much Halloween candy or is this peanut-related? For the next 4 hours, we hold him, get him water, take him to our bed, take him to his bed, walk with him, rub his back, and give him a breathing treatment. He’s crying that he’s tired and wants to go to sleep, but he’s tossing and turning and can’t get comfortable.
Finally, he collapses and goes to sleep – well after 2am. We are unsure what is to blame for the evening’s drama. Then I discover it.
Remember the coffee Chad made me? The one I didn’t feel good enough to drink? I also didn’t feel good enough to take it to the kitchen. And there’s the cup sitting on my nightstand. Empty. And I realize that my 3-year-old, who LOVES coffee, found an opportunity to drink and entire cup of it at some point after we got home from Trunk Or Treat. And then we gave him albuterol because we thought he was having a reaction to the Butterfinger.
Kids like Cade (or should I say parents like me) are the reasons there are so many resources related to baby-proofing a house. If only I could baby-proof the part of my memory dedicated to making sure my coffee mugs are rinsed out.
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