If  baby has an ultra mega diaper poo-splosion and it’s everywhere, I’ve learned that it’s easier to just cut the onsie off with scissors (paramedics style) and toss it. Otherwise, baby ends up with a poo-smeared face and that’s a different problem altogether. Remember to cut down, AWAY from baby’s face.  That last part isn’t something I learned the hard way, it’s just good ol’ common sense.

If you still have gag gifts and inappropriate toys left over from your bachelorette party FIVE years ago, just throw them away. Don’t save them in the hopes that another bride-to-be might just want a fallic sippy cup straw. Otherwise, your crafty toddler may get into the stash (hidden deep in your closet) while her daddy is supposed to be “watching” her.

She might then run out into the living room with something VERY embarrassing in her hands–while you IN-LAWS are over for dinner.

It was a Friday morning like any other. And I was wrassling up the girls to head out the door. I strapped Ellie into her baby carrier and left it on the couch. I usually put Abby in the car first, then come back in for everything else. So I scoop Abby into my arms and step into the garage.

Side note: At this time, like I do everyday, I am playing “eye of the tiger” in my head and congratulating myself on making it out of the house on time. The morning rat race was just beginning. For God’s sake, it was only 7 am and I was dressed for work (with clean hair and make-up on, I might add) and both girls were fed, clothed and clean-diapered. It is a mini morningtime-miracle each and every day.

But I digress. Back to the garage. I walk around the car to put Abby in but for some reason the belts in her car seat were way too tight. How does a kid seemingly grow 45 pounds overnight? Something wasn’t adding up, so I put Abby down and adjust the straps. She runs over to Daddy’s dirtbikes and wants to sit on them, like when he picks her up and lets her sit on top. She’s wailing “Maaa muh!” and reaching up toward the bike. I am frantically adjusting straps. She won’t be ignored. “MMMMMMAAAAAAAAAWH MMMUAWH!”

I turn to her, remembering the Happiest Toddler on the Block Method. She’s really just a mini caveman, you know?

“Abby, I know you want to sit on the motorcycle and you are VERY mad. But we need to leave so mommy can get to work so you can have a nice place to live, so please come over here so Mommy can put you back in your carseat.”

I was so proud of myself, thinking that since I employed said method, she would quietly comply and see my point of view.

Yeah, right. Abby instantly flails herself on the floor and wails. I go over to pick her up, and she noodles onto the floor. A limp and lifeless rag doll. I pick her up and attempt to put her back in the car seat–where she engages the “board method” of resistance. Straightening her body, rendering herself totally unable to be strapped in. So now it’s like wrestling a gator.

I get her safely strapped in and she is NOT HAPPY. I make funny faces at her, close the door and hear a crunch. That’s weird, I think to myself. I slowly back away. And that’s when I notice something tugging on my hand. It doesn’t make sense. And then I see it. The door and closed AND SHUT on my right index finger.

I don’t know if anything like this has ever happened to you–but it’s one of those moments where you just KNOW it’s going to hurt. It’s like the pain receptors in my brain hadn’t yet received the message. The whole thing was slow mo. I gently open the door, with Abby still screaming inside. And that’s when the blinding pain set in. I know it’s just a finger, but it hurt so freaking bad. My field of vision was closing in when I realized that there was a puddle of blood on the floor. Pulsating out of my finger.

I ran into the house, past Ellie waiting patiently on the couch. I grabbed a dish towel and fill it with ice. Then I sat down and realized that I really was going to pass out. It’s only now I notice that my nail is crushed, split open and bleeding. I considered running to our neighbors’ house, but we’re still new to the area and I wasn’t sure what I’d even say. I imagine myself passed out on their doorstep and the kids here totally alone. I grabbed the phone and called my mom to come save me. Thankfully, it was a Friday and she could come, but she lives at least 15 minutes away–and that’s with no traffic.

As I sat and waited, I realized that I was fading and fast. I can’t call 911, I think to myself, I’ll end up having to pay for the ambulance bill and be laughed outta town by the dispatcher. As least I know that both kids were safely strapped into carseats for now. So I do the following: open the front door a crack, then lay across it on the cold hard tile. I guess I figured that when I passed out, at least the rescue crew (that I hadn’t called) could get in a save my kids. I dunno. Panic makes you do weird things. Motherhood makes you do weird things.

I lay on the tile for a while and do some sort of makeshift lamaze breathing. I never even used it when I delivered my girls, but I was desperate.

Thankfully, my superhero mom came to the rescue. And I never ended up really passing out. Things just got REAL fuzzy there for a while. It turned out to be a hairline fracture–so I am in a splint for the next few weeks and learning to adapt quickly. It still throbs, though and that seems to be the most painful part. That, and when Ellie latches into it and squeezes.

Needless to say, I marched over and introduced myself to the neighbors that night.

There are a lot of weirdos in this world, that I know for sure.

Recently, I was approached by a very obviously mentally ill man in a dark parking lot. He was homeless, or at least looked that way and stank of urine. It was as I was leaving the grocery store. I just had Abby with me and she was still in the cart as I unloaded into the trunk.

He asked me for cash, and as he stood there, he was rambling incoherently to himself. I wasn’t mean to him–the truth really was that I had no cash. But I certainly tried to put out that polite, but you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me-or-my-kid-vibe. I guess I went into “momma bear” mode.

I never looked back to see what Abby was doing while all of this was happening. Then I hear her scream “DAAAAA-DAAAAAAH” and when I turned around there she was, smiling as brightly as I’ve ever seen and waving frantically to this man. You see, Abby calls pretty much all men (including Rob) daaa daaah.

He didn’t wave to her, or even smile back. He really didn’t seem to know what was going on at all. He just stood there and stared. He ended up leaving after I gave him a bag of tortilla chips from my grocery bag and asked him leave us alone. And he went on his way, uneventfully. But it got me thinking. I know she’s little, but she seemed to not pick up on my stress or the man that was CLEARLY not interested in playing her game.

I am not a scaredy cat, it just seems that lately, I’ve grown to be more and more paranoid about stuff. I guess it’s all the media surrounding Jaycee Dugard. It also didn’t help that, while I was up in the middle of the night with Ellie, I watched the Oprah from this week that featured all the missing children.

I know that my kids are probably way too young to learn about “stranger danger.” I want her to still be her outgoing little self, without being so paranoid about strangers that she lives in a constant state of fear. How do we teach our kids to be safe, without being scared? Please weigh in on this issue, whether you have kids or not. Any advice?

On a side note, I read a great book a few years ago about trusting your instincts. It’s called The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker. It’s where I learned that sometimes, in the name of safety, it’s okay to be direct and ask someone to leave. He stresses that it’s always a good idea to trust your instincts. They are there to protect you. He’s written another book about keeping kids safe, so maybe I’ll read it and do another book review…

Let’s face it. Things around here are busy and getting busier. We’ve had an incredibly busy and hectic month, with lots of ups and downs. I’m not going to lie–I’ll be happy to see the month end next week.

Abby is finally teething, which makes me happy (READ: glad that she isn’t teething in 11 weeks when we also have a screaming newborn). But I am in a sort of downward spiral. She has stopped sleeping for longer than a two-hour spurt at night. And she doesn’t just wake up with a whimper. It’s a full-fledged, teary howl that is enough to push even the most sane (which I don’t claim to be) mom over the edge. Poor Abby, she’s got five teeth coming in all at the same time. I’d be fussy, too.

It isn’t like I can look forward and say “at least in June I’ll be able to sleep.” I am thinking a little more long term, like “when the girls are in college and don’t live here anymore, I’ll be able to sleep.”

But just because she screams and keeps me up all night, it doesn’t mean that I get to skip work the next day. Professional Pam is supposed to show up looking put together. In clean, pressed business clothes, and shoes that aren’t Uggs or Old Navy flip flops. As my belly grows, it’s getting harder to fit into anything that looks presentable, or shoes that fit. And the WORST part is that I have a job that requires focus and brainpower. So the whole half-asleep thing doesn’t really fly. But I make it work because I have to–even though by the time Friday night comes, I find myself literally thanking God that I didn’t keel over that week.

A dear friend here at work (who shall remain nameless) told me once that she had a plan to shut her office door and take a nap under her desk, a la George Costanza. She would take a handful of paperclips with her so that if someone came in or knocked, she could simply explain that she had dropped the paperclips under her desk and she was picking them up.

I have so many pictures to post, but they are very random and spread out over the last month. I promise to upload some recent pics with some quirky photo captions sometime in the next couple of days. But if you need me in the meantime, I’ll just be here under my desk picking up paperclips.