My son, CG, was ratty today. I think it’s because he’s teething, although as eldest daughter is gradually recovering from chickenpox, there’s a chance (or should that be likelihood?) that he could be coming down with that.
As I gave him his dinner, I obviously wasn’t concentrating on what I was doing, as he suddenly went very red faced and screamed loudly. It turns out that I’d given him food from the centre of the bowl – in other words, the food that hadn’t yet cooled down – and it had burnt his mouth and throat as he’d swallowed it.
In order to calm him down, I partly-filled his bottle with boiled water which had been left to cool on the side. My thinking was that if he was screaming due to having swallowed a spoonful of too-hot food, then the water would probably cool his throat down. Thankfully it seemed to work, as after a couple of gulps, his cheeks went from red to pink, and he stopped screaming and wanted some more food. I should add that it’s not a mistake I make often!
After I’d finished feeding him, mum turned up on the doorstep, dropping off some bits and pieces. As I get my legendary thirst for tea from my mum, I was quick to put the kettle on. It also saved me from moving CG, who was still in his high on the opposite side of the kitchen.
Mum started making cooing noises towards CG as I continued making the tea, my back to the pair of them. He responded (deaf, my arse!) with a happy coo which I recognised as him wanting to be picked up. Mum didn’t recognise this noise, and instead thought that he wanted something to drink following his dinner, which, due to CG being at a “grabby” age, was still smeared all over his face and hands following his attempts to wrestle the spoon from my hands.
Not knowing that we keep bottles of milk in the fridge for CG, mum picked up the part-filled bottle of water that I’d used earlier to cool down his throat.
A couple of seconds after he started to chug on the water, I heard an “Oooh,” from mum, and then, almost as an afterthought, “I hope this is ok.”
She was talking out loud to herself, which is normal for our family, before turning to me and asking “Dan, what’s in this bottle?”.
I’d already seen her pick up the water, but with an evil gleam in my eye, I turned around slightly from the kettle, glanced at the bottle over my shoulder before turning back to my tea making duties.
“What’s in the bottle?” I repeated, almost absently, “That bottle’s got bleach in it mum. Why?”
The look on her face, even after I’d told her that I was joking, tells me that I’m going straight to Hell.