HWASF (Husband with a Sad Face): Here's right here, next to me.
HWASF: Errr yes, look!
Me: But he's not moving or making any noise.
HWASF: No, he's quite happy playing with the railway.
Me: But he's not moving or making any noise.....
HWASF: He's concentrating.
Me: Are you 'sure' he's alright?
HWASF: YES! LOOK!
(He's sitting very very very still staring into the middle distance. He's either mastered the art of transcendental meditation or he's been turned to stone. Possibly for crimes against women wearing red felt).
Me: ARE YOU SURE?
(At this point the toddler starts to snort, rather like a bull about to charge).
I sense something may be up.
I approach him.
His hands fall open to reveal a collection of beads (beads which I have never seen before and had no idea we owned).
I grab toddler and tip back his head so the light is shining up his nose.
Yup. There is a long cylindrical bead wedged nicely right up his left nasal passage.
'Fine' my arse.
TWEEZERS! I yell before moving him to the strip-lit kitchen floor.
Give me space to work! SHARPER TWEEZERS!
At this point Original Son has arrived to take in the drama. What with him being 'Mr Health & Safety' crimes against one's own body intrigue him.
Me: GET BACK! IF WE CAN'T CLEAR THIS WE ARE GOING TO HOSPITAL.
A brief struggle and a lot of breath holding later the bead was removed.
At this point all hell breaks loose:
Original Son: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Me: What do you mean NO?
Original Son: But I want to take him to the hospital. PLLLLEEEASSSSSEEEE.
Me: He's fine now, he doesn't need to go and we are very lucky that's the case.
Original Son: Can we take him anyway?
Me: No, you are very lucky we don't need to go to the hospital (here followed a sermon on the potential outcomes of nasal bead stuffing and the horrors of waiting in casualty).
Original Son: But I just want to take him now. I love hospitals, especially in the dark. I haven't been for AGES. PLLEEEEEASEEE.
Me: No, it's bed time (whilst thinking, my god, what have I done to my child? His fondest memories of his early years are clearly cemented around visiting me in hospital. Psychiatric Care has never looked so fun. Sod Lego Land - this child dreams of Nuclear Power Stations, Diesel Engine Depots and......Mental Health Units).
They go to bed but I'm left with uneasy sense that Original Son may try sprinkling small objects into the toddlers cot in the hope of a repeat performance.