My veterinary training did not serve me well tonight. Usually it's helpful as babies aren't all that different from dogs - they can't tell you what hurts or that they don't feel good; they put everything in sight in their mouths; occasionally, they pee on your carpet. Usually, I can watch for similar symptoms in Baby G that I would expect in a dog and know whether to worry or not. Tonight, however, I had horrifying visions of exploratory surgery after G popped a cherry pit in her mouth and gulped it down.
She knew what she was doing. I told her not to touch the cherry stones. However, when I looked down to retrieve a piece of cherry she dropped, her grubby little mitt stretched out quick as a flash for the pile of forbidden pits. Then with alarming coordination for 8 1/2 months, she shoved it in her mouth and swallowed just as my finger was reaching for her lips. Down it went and up went my blood pressure as I saw the look of triumph on her face. And really, what could I do? It was gone.
Instead of assuming I would find it later in her diaper, I began visualizing the slide show from vet school where our professor showed all the things stupid labrador puppies had eaten over the years - tennis balls, silverware, an 8" long rubber crow like the ones from Dumbo, and more. Pyloric obstruction, esophageal hemorrhage - this line of thought was not helpful.
Fortunately, I have a friend with 5 kids 5 years old and younger (don't gloss over that - contemplate what 2 preschoolers, 2 toddlers and a newborn actually look like!). She's seen just about everything, and it's still fresh on her mind since one of her children probably did it again yesterday. I'm sure later tonight she'll chuckle with her husband about the overly confident highschooler she knew who has become the insecure mom with the protective, stupid questions.
As you might imagine, G is fine. She took a bottle and crashed for the night. I'm sure I haven't seen the last of the cherry pit - a humbling reminder that I, too, worry when I shouldn't about my girl.