Amidst the chaos of all the illnesses that took over my household this past month sprang even more chaos that was more so headache inducing.
Operation Playroom was postponed because of the many illnesses that kept me busy between all three of us here. While I was down for the count, my son decided to raise a little hell to keep me on my toes.
I was napping and my father and “Husband” were doing dishes together while the baby ran rampant around the main floor of out house. The next thing I know I am being awoken by my “Husband” because the baby got into a beer can and was covered in beer. I thought he had just found my father’s stash which we keep in the kitchen out of sight. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Slight backstory: my Dad has been adamantly against baby proofing aside from the basics (baby gates, electric plug covers, drawer locks, etc.) He refuses to move any of his possessions out-of-the-way as it is my job to constantly watch over him and discipline him when he misbehaves. That tells you what kind of childhood I had, right? Well, since my son is not even one and a half, I don’t believe there is much I can do on the discipline front. We tell him “No!” and we give him time outs when his tantrums get out of control. At this point, anything else is counterproductive. Anyways, so my parents have kept almost all of their prized antiques within reach of my son, two of which are antique beer cans that have never been opened – until now.
This was my Dad’s Rendezvous 1989 Labatt’s Blue. We can only assume what happened because the men were in the kitchen, but the baby wandered in holding a non-busted can and was soaked in beer. My “Husband” immediately stopped and went to see what happened. He found this can on the play area carpet, busted at the side. Beer was everywhere – on the walls, the TV, every single toy my son in that room, and the baby was soaked. My hypothesis is that he grabbed the can and either dropped it by accident or hit it off one of his many toys with pointy edges and the contents exploded everywhere. His gums weren’t damaged so I figured he didn’t bite it, plus that not really in his character to do. He is a sucker and likes to lick things, not a biter.
So baby got bathed immediately and changed into fresh clothes. I then spent the next few minutes furiously googling to see if 27/28-year-old beer could cause damage if ingested. My first thoughts were if he had swallowed some or if it sprayed into his mouth what would happen. Thankfully the internet said all that would happen was a sore stomach or some indigestion. I filled that baby with so much water in hopes of diluting his system. In the end, nothing happened out of the ordinary whatsoever.
Next, I was tasked with the clean up. Meanwhile through all this, I had a gastro bug that kept me in the bathroom most of the day and night at which point I was still in the prime peak illness phase. Cleaning this, minding the baby, and trying to do damage control with my Dad was so much to take on at this point.
I emptied the entire room, leaving nothing but big furniture behind.
Walls then had to be washed and the carpet had to be scrubbed.
Toys lined the staircase to be disinfected and plush/non-electronic toys were piled to be washed.
All the while, I was looking on google/ebay and emailing collectors to see if I could find a replacement. So far I have had no luck.
I have broken many of my parents possessions in my lifetime, but this is the first time my son has done it. I could feel the disappointment radiating onto me even though it was directed at my son. It’s been a long while since my Dad has been that mad at me.
This was the final straw I guess. Since this incident, my Dad and I have had a few conversations about me moving my little family elsewhere. I keep telling him, give me until the end of the year. Hopefully this works out for us because the countdown is seriously upon us now. I am not sure if Operation Playroom is even worth doing knowing we would be leaving shortly after completion. I’ll have to think on that one.