The Week That Micah Swallowed the Bolt


This is an infamous week in our house. The week that any parent of a teenager wanting to convince them of the importance of abstinence, should have sent their kid to our place.

One evening this past summer, Alex and I were hanging out watching a movie together after the kids went to bed. We do this on the weekends, get some grownup pretentious snacks, rent a movie, and have a date at home. We were not very far into our movie, John Carter, as I remember (a movie that will forever be ruined for us), when Micah came running out of his room looking scared. "I swallowed a piece of metal!"

We sat there shell shocked. Our four-year-old, first-born, Mister Responsible, Mister Never-puts-things-in-his-mouth... We reeled for a second, then simultaneously realized that we needed to stay calm if we wanted him to tell us what happened. I asked him to draw me a picture of what he swallowed. He very neatly drew a bolt, with rounded head, threaded shaft and flat bottom. Alex drew a screw with a pointy end and asked Micah, "Did it look like this?" Micah said no.

So, Alex and I went crawling around on our hands and knees in the boys' room looking for evidence of hardware. We found that a piece was missing from a leg of Declan's crib. So, we unscrewed a bolt from the other leg. Alex took that bolt, got a handful of hardware from his toolbox, and asked Micah to pick out what he had swallowed. He picked out the crib bolt (We later found out he was putting it in his mouth, imitating his daddy, who had earlier that day been holding screws in his mouth while building a deck).

I said we should probably try to make him throw it up, thinking this would be a piece of cake. Just a couple days earlier, he had puked all over the bathroom because he laughed while brushing his teeth. This boy has the most sensitive gag reflex. I have dozens of funny stories of my embarrassment cleaning up vomit in strange places.

First we tried warm mustard water, a common home remedy for inducing vomit. Alex mixed up a couple ounces of hot water with mustard. Micah took a huge swig, swallowed, looked up and said, "Not bad." So we made more. I got that kid to chug 12 ounces of warm mustard water... nothing.

So, the only thing left was to gag him. I explained to him what I was going to do, assured him it was necessary and would be over quickly, hugged him tightly, and reached my fingers as far down his throat as they would go. He coughed, cried, coughed some more... no vomit. Seriously?! So, I did it again... and again, and again, and again. I made my poor sweet baby boy's throat bleed. I was sobbing and shaking, so I had Alex try, thinking he would be successful because he has longer fingers. No success. The kid that last week threw up all over the house we were showing to prospective tenants because he giggled and coughed at the same time!

So we called a doctor friend, and he said let it pass. Then began the week of panning through our son's poop. That's right, a week! And this kid poops SEVERAL times a day. After a few days of panning and no gold, we called the pediatrician. She said if it didn't show up by the next morning, he would need x-rays, and it may need to be surgically removed.

So, out of curiosity (and me being shaky and emotional about the thought of cutting into my baby), we went to visit a friend who owns a metal detector. We brought the extra bolt. We scanned all of us without the bolt, then with the bolt underneath us. The metal detector beeped for my bronzy shoes, but not for any of our bellies. It did beep when we lay on the bolt, though. And it beeped for Micah. And judging by where it was beeping, it was nowhere near leaving his body.

So, the next morning I packed him up and took him to get x-rays. On the way there (and he hadn't pooped since before the metal detector), he said, "Mom, I'm sure God took the bolt out of me. But I still want to see the pictures of inside me."

Two x-rays... no bolt. As we were leaving, Micah indignantly asked me why I didn't tell the x-ray technician that God took the bolt out. I awkwardly stumbled over my words, saying it hadn't occurred to me. I had no idea what to say to my four year old who did not understand my lack of faith.

For icing on the cake, the pediatrician called and told us to keep panning through poop for the next 48 hours, just to be sure.

Long story, short... God is great, parenting is gross, and kids are crazy.

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