Biting off more than you can chew...

Or, in Scott's case, simply failing to chew AT ALL.

Tank has always been a fairly robust eater. He is particularly good about eating meat - especially when it comes on the bone. Chicken and turkey legs, pork chops, ribs, even lamb chops...he digs right in.

Lately, he's developed a bad habit of ripping off really big bites. Even when his food isn't served cave-man style, he still tries to shove a ridiculous amount in his mouth.

Tonight IT finally happened. I was sitting with Scott at the kitchen table, eating dinner while he happily gnawed away on a chicken leg. Then came that awful, hacking, guttural sound that could only mean one thing - my baby was choking.

I jumped up, whacked him on the back a couple of times, and figured that would be it.

But it wasn't. His eyes watered, his hands tensed, and he started shoving his neck forward.

I honestly don't know for how long. Time stopped. At least it felt like it did.

Ever since Scott was born, my perspective has completely shifted. The idea of something happening to him literally makes me heart stop pumping for a few seconds. I don't read news stories about horrible things that happen to kids, I can't buy fiction books about sad, tragic events involving small children - everything hits too close to home.

And so as I watched him, I completely and totally panicked. I had no idea what to do.

It was like my brain was having a conversation with itself.

One part of it kept thinking/saying: "He's okay. Right? I mean, he's ok. He'll swallow it down. It'll stop."

Meanwhile, the other part was frantically and silently screaming: "He's not ok, you idiot. Look at him. Do SOMETHING."

I whacked him on the back a couple more times, then stuck my finger in his mouth, feeling around. Nothing.

Scott started turning a hideous shade of red/purple. So I yanked him out of the high chair, threw him on his belly across my leg with his head pointing toward the floor and whacked his back again, harder, several more times.

And then suddenly, after what seemed like FOREVER, out flew a very large hunk of rotisserie chicken. No bone, just pristine, untouched, unchewed meat - about twice the size of a quarter and at least 4-5 times as thick.

The offending "bite" of chicken.

I couldn't have even swallowed that thing whole. Scott coughed and then drooled/vomited a bit, finally letting out a very long, high-pitched cry/wail. I slid with him, in my lap, onto the ground.

I think we sat on the floor for a good three or four minutes. He sobbed, I rubbed his back and his head and tried to stop my hands from shaking.

I give the kid credit. He's resilient.

Ten minutes later, he was acting fine, happily drinking down the fruit smoothie I gave him.

Playing in the bath after "the incident," as though nothing ever happened.

I am still trying to calm down. I doubt this will be the last time Scott does something that scares the crud out of me. I do know I want to be better prepared when he does. So i am signing up for some CPR classes in the near future.

And, starting tomorrow, his meat is getting cut up into small little pieces.