It started at dinner. I cooked the traditional New Years meal, complete with collard greens and black eyed peas. I’ve gotten pretty good at cooking over the years, and tonight was no exception. Something else that was in the norm was that Elliot, our two and a half year old son, did well with eating it. He ate all of his sauerkraut (he insists on calling this “pickles”...kids are weird), all of his apple sauce, and all of his pork chop. He avoided the greens, but we had finally convinced him to start in on the black eyed peas. This was thanks in large part to his Superman action figure, which we used to cheer him on.
It was going well, but at some point, Elliot discovered that the size and shape of a black eyed pea is such that it can easily get inside ones nostril.
He made several attempts once having this eureka moment. Elizabeth and I luckily caught it in time from going all the way up, and we told him time and again to stop doing that. That message, unfortunately, fell on deaf ears.
Elizabeth had to get up at one point to check on our three month old daughter, Eleanor. Sensing he was with the more easily distracted parent, Elliot made his move. And as I reached my hand out to stop it, I saw the bottom end of a black eyed pea slip into Elliot's nostril and out of sight.
It’s hard not to panic in these moments.
Elizabeth heard in my “Oh no” what had actually happened before she turned around. Elliot had never done this before. Sure, he had gone through a phase where everything went into his mouth, but the “sticking things up your nose” game was one we had avoided...until tonight. She came over and we started to try to work the pea out of Elliot’s right nostril.
I want you to now imagine the frustration of describing the process of breathing out ones nostrils to an individual that insists on eating his boogers.
We tried everything to get him to blow his nose, but that concept clearly went over his larger than average sized head (I don’t know how many times we said “No, the other way,” but it was enough to question my sanity). I finally suggested to Elizabeth that maybe we should get him to breath in hard and try to get the pea to go out the back and down into his throat.
That clicked on some sort of lightbulb, because in a flash Elizabeth was up, shouting “That’s it!” and running upstairs. She came down a few minutes later with our Nose Frida.
For those that are not familiar with the Nose Frida, it is a Swedish device that replaces the bulb sucker that many of us grew up with. You put one end of the device flush with your child’s nostril, you put the other end to your lips, and you suck.
It’s an unnerving feeling the first time you see snot fill the cylinder and you think “It’s not going to continue up the tube...right?”
Elizabeth is a pro at using this thing, and she set to work. Lots of snot came out, but the pea wouldn’t budge. It sat up there, clearly visible when we tilted Elliot’s head back and pulled back his nose so it resembled a pig’s snout. Taunting us.
After several failed efforts, we brought the kiddos up for a bath. Elizabeth, playing the part of the mom from “A Christmas Story,” tried to get Elliot to blow bubbles through his nose by blowing them through her own. “I can’t do it!” he exclaimed over and over again, and then proceeded to pretend that his hands were Cat Boy and Owlette from PJ Masks (again, kids are weird).
At this point, I started thinking it won’t come out and I panicked. It’s not rigidly solid, inorganic, or poisonous, so in reality it’s not the worst thing he could get stuck up his nose. But then I thought about it coming lose in the middle of the night and him choking on it and that thought needled into my brain and wouldn't let go
Luckily, as I said before, Elizabeth is a pro.
After bath time, she set to work with the Nose Frida again. This time, we put Elliot on his back and I held him down (the therapy sessions we just generated will be doozies). Elliot screamed and cried and acted like we were trying to extract his brain through his nostril instead of a pea (judging by some of his actions, it would be hard to tell the difference).
I was beginning to think that we would have to call someone when POP! (okay, it didn’t make that sound but that’s how I’m remembering it now) out came the pea. I gave Elizabeth a high five and she quickly retreated, Elliot’s calls of “I don’t like you!” following her as she left his room.
Here’s the offending black eyed pea and the cotton-headed ninimuggins who got it lodged in his nose:
Tonight was the first time that either of us had to do something like that. Elizabeth says that this will not be the last, and she bets that we will never have this problem with Eleanor (something to do about boys not listening...I don’t know, I faded off towards the end there). Elizabeth handled it like a champ, staying calm and collected while having to listen to her son’s screams of torture. I’m really proud of her (had it been left up to me, we would have gone in with a toothpick and who knows what could have happened...)
This evening’s adventure was not planned or scheduled. Like I said, we had another activity that we were going to do for tonight that we will just have to do some other time. Parenting, for us at least, has been a lot of these kinds of nights. You plan for one thing only to discover yourself going in an entirely new and unexpected direction. That can be hair-raising, but it can also be the kind of excitement that makes life worth living.
Our fist suction surgery is in the books thanks to the ingenious Swedes and their Nose Frida. Hopefully, round two won’t happen any time soon.
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