Molly Maid

First, a little back-story:  On Tuesday morning, Ben was playing in my room while I got ready.  I'm not in the habit of leaving medication on the floor, but there was a box of various medical-type things on the floor of my closet that day (Mistake #1).  Ben discovered a couple of pill bottles and decided they were fun shakers.  I saw they had child-proof caps and let him shake away (Mistake #2).  To avoid an inevitable meltdown, I let him continue to shake a bottle of Tylenol while he ate breakfast (Mistake #3).  Then I stopped thinking and left him alone in his highchair while I got my own breakfast.  Roughly two minutes later, I made the panicked realization that HE STILL HAD THE TYLENOL (Mistake #4).  Of course, he had managed to open the bottle.  Of course.

Based on my frantic forensic analysis, I was about 95% certain that he hadn't taken any pills.  However, when you call the pediatrician and they tell you that even one extra-strength Tylenol can kill your child, you do not rely on 95% certainty.  And it seems the only people who can determine if your child has taken Tylenol are the kind-but-not-so-efficient doctors at the ER.  So we spent Tuesday morning at the ER -- my patient husband, my slightly bored baby, and his mother who felt like the scum of the Earth.

Now that we have those minor details out of the way, let's discuss the real story here.  While attempting to entertain Ben at the ER, we took several walks down the halls, and Ben took a bizarre interest in the janitor's cart.  I pointed out the broom to him, and he latched right on to that.  He would point at the cart and yell, "Broom!" (pronounced "boom") - over and over and over - every time we went into the hall.

Then the next morning, I pulled out our broom, and it got the same reaction.

I thought it would be another couple of years before Ben would be good slave labor, but I have hit the baby jackpot with him.  Maybe I can teach him to clean a toilet before he learns how to use one!  Score!