EB is pretty verbal for three and a half. (I swear this is not just mother's bias -- for example, when talking to me in recent weeks she has used both "experience" and "solution" -- though not together -- seemingly out of nowhere.) Thus tonight, as she was dawdling in the drained tub and suddenly started howling in this terrible way, not calling "Mom!" or "Help!" but simply howling wordlessly like an animal, I dropped the baby and dashed back in. Somehow she'd gotten the long-necked bathtub faucet stuck under her tongue. I found her kneeling in the tub with the tap in her mouth, lodged there, gargling furiously. The faucet's mouth must have almost exactly the same diameter as the curve of her bottom teeth. It was like the tongue-to-the-lightpost scene in The Christmas Story, only much more difficult to set up. I glimpsed a tiny bit of blood on the faucet, had an inner fit, pretended to be more annoyed than afraid, climbed into the tub and worked her head free, gave her some ice cubes and went back to diapering the baby.
The refrigerator died this evening too. One of our four landlords and a man with a toolbox called the "Master" have arrived to "reanimate" it. I've got a serious yoghurt-making operation underway on the kitchen counter, to salvage all the milk.
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