Close Calls

I feel like we have a lot of close calls with Nathan. Those moments when you think, "Oh boy, that could have been sooo much worse." Times when you see the accident coming and everything turns to slow motion and you are just 2 steps or 2 seconds behind. Today was one of those times. At lunch I was mixing up some chocolate milk (because Mondays are chocolate milk Mondays around here) and we were singing "Witches Brew". I would pause between verses to tell Nathan to settle down in his booster so that he wouldn't fall. We have him in a booster seat strapped to the chair and then we have to buckle him in (otherwise he gets up and down at least a dozen times per meal). I had just finished saying, "Nathan, stop or you are going to get hurt. If you rock that hard in your booster you are going to fall." Sure enough he starts to fall forward since he had thrown his weight back and then forward again he knocked the chair off balance and he is heading for the edge of the table without being able to bail out of his seat. He nails his face on the table just before I can get to him. The chocolate syrup ended up flying across the table as I ran over to scoop him up. His mouth was dripping blood in no time (thank goodness for yarrow) and the inside of his upper lip was pretty beat up. The first thing he said was, "chocack bop" (chocolate milk). But all in all things are fine. As far as I can tell his teeth are intact and he didn't break his nose or gash his forehead and ruin his perfect chubby little face. Little tender mercies.
At a minimum I have to rescue Nathan from choking twice a week (I guess some weeks it is only once, but others it can be 3 or 4 times, so the average is about twice). I mean the whack his back so he starts breathing again since he swallows his food whole like a snake. I wish the boy would learn to chew.
On the same note, I forgot to mention that on my birthday he and Kate got into my purse/diaper bag and rummaged through it. They (meaning Kate) managed to get open the concentrated infant Motrin and Nathan drank it. Luckily there was only about a 1/3 of it left or less, but I wasn't sure. So, I had to call poison control. (Boy, there's nothing like having to call poison control or pulling your kids off of your roof to make you feel like a fantastic mother. I'm not winning any awards this year. I'm just trying to keep Nathan alive. He is such a stereotypical two-year old boy.) Anyway, they asked me all kinds of question about him. Age, weight, type of medicine he drank, etc. When I told him he turned 2 in April and weighed 35 pounds he said, "Oh, okay." I said, "Yeah, the weight thing is going to work in our favor this time." That as well turned out to be fine. He would have had to drink about 5 times more than he did in order to have to go to the ER so we lucked out yet again. I think this boy might be part cat with 9 lives. I swear I am NOT just a bad mother.