Blake can amuse himself a lot of the time. This is a bit dangerous, not only because he can wander into all sorts of freaky situations unmonitored, but also because it's damn seductive to believe that I can & should write or read for large chunks of his awake-time. I really hope that his first memory won't be electrocuting himself in a wall-socket while I catch up on LiveJournal.

Yesterday was the least-busy day of the week so far. I'd been looking forward to it as a chance to finish some of my backlogged writing, a chance to finish a CD package, a chance to read my new Poppy Z. Brite novel, Liquor. I rushed into the house after Baby Club, changed the baby & sat down to write a few urgent emails. Then I noticed that the diapers were unfolded, so in typical MOM-ADD fashion, I got up to fold the diapers. Blake crawled over from the bookshelf (he'd been amusing himself tossing Tristam Shandy & other novels onto the floor) and pulled himself up on the table. There are a lot of things on this low table, and I pulled a bunch of plastic out of his hand just before it went into his mouth. Duty done, I folded & piled, folded & piled, folded & -

Was that his swallowing face? Oh. Shit.

It didn't seem that bad; he was smacking his lips like he'd eaten something dusty & unfoodlike, but he wasn't choking. I pried his mouth open for a split second & caught a glimpse of something black. Shit! Now he was starting to make huck-huck noises, trying to cough something up. I did a useless finger sweep, then hauled him up to the bathroom where the light is better. At some point in there I started the greasy slide toward panic.

Time to appeal to a higher power. I ran up the stairs, baby under my arm, and woke up my mother. She patted him on the back & a few minutes later he threw up a flat, black, flexible plastic disk about the size of a penny. One of the screw covers from the side of our bookshelf; they've been peeling off for years & camouflage themselves against all our furniture & carpeting. Not that white furniture would've mattered. I was busy folding, my head firmly lodged in my ass.

So my question is this: are babies so precious because they're vulnerable? Or is their constant state of peril a horrible, horrible mistake on the part of God? Because I feel badly underqualified to keep this muffin alive until his first birthday party.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/12/2004 08:00:00 p.m.