Friday evening I get home from work to the news from my husband that the dreaded event had happened. The baby made his way across the living room with his lightening fast crawl, and put a piece of doggy poop in his mouth.
Yep
My husband tells me about this, with a mild bit of panic in his voice. We discuss the need to call the pediatrician. Justification ensues, 'I don't think he got it down his throat', 'I think that I got it all washed out of his mouth' etc. But I couldn't help it, I just made fun of him.
Monday morning, and my sister-in-law's big, huge, massive, polar bear of a dog had been staying with us over the weekend.
Wait, let me back up: Koda had been lumbering around the house all weekend. Koda, roughly 250 million pounds, and kept trying to engage Murphy, 6 1/2 pounds soaking wet, in some playful banter. Oh, and then Gabriel had been using Koda as a personal, walking couch. He rubbed his face into koda's 5 foot long fur, grabbing fistfuls of it all of the time...etc. She's a big, awesome polar bear and fun for any little baby to nuzzle. So there's lots of fur literally floating around my house.
Okay, so back to monday morning; Gabriel playing on the floor, supervised by my husband. And after Friday's poopy incident, I'll use the work 'supervising' lightly. We knew that it was going to happen, maybe, eventually, that Gabriel would shove something disgusting in his mouth. Ok, but Monday morning, Gabriel crawls over to me as I am putting on my shoes.
He's coughing and there's a Koda-hair sticking out of his mouth. I grab it, and pull out an entire hairball!!
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