Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Threat Level Red...or....The Mystery of the Bleeding Foot

Good Morning Readers,

When it comes to the subject of emergencies, I'd like to think that I have a cool head. Be it a car accident, a tsunami, or the inevitable zombie apocalypse (no really...you should have a plan too.), I usually envision myself cool and confident. I own the situation. I James Bond the poop out of it. I thought I was one of those people...right up until yesterday's senario.

Let me start by saying that it's a well known fact that four month year-olds do NOT, have the ability to be mobile....well, at least not mobile enough to get themselves into any kind of real trouble. Ok, now that we've all agreed on this fact, please answer me this...How the HECK does a baby make her own foot bleed?! You hooked?...Good...I was too.

I'll set the scene. The babies had just awoken from their afternoon nap and begun their usual squeaks to let me know it was time for the 80th bottle of the day. Sooo.....leaving them on my bed, I quickly trotted down to the kitchen to make up some formula. They'd both started crying at this point, but I didn't think anything of it, since this is pretty much the norm when the dinner bell rings. My daughter started sounding a tad high-pitched, but as she's been impatient about everything lately, I simply finished shaking up the liquid peace and quiet, and headed back upstairs. That's when I saw it...

Blood. Bright red and terribly frightening....on my bed. I observed, in horror, a blood spatter covering my comforter in about a three inch radius. With a an invisible noose tightening around my insides, I quickly realized that the source of the unpleasantness was my sweet, cherubic baby daughters foot!

Going into panic mode- my son staring at me like I had bunnies flying out of my ears- I scooped up my little girl, and flew to the bathroom. Throwing open the door with what was, I'm sure, unnecessary force, I turned on the faucet, and stuck her fat, little foot under it. At this point, I just needed to know what major artery had been hit, and where she needed to go for the transfusion.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, by this point, I was crying hysterically, sure that someone had snuck into my room and stabbed my child with a knife. My daughter, meanwhile, had stopped crying, and was, instead, staring at me with a very puzzled look on her face. Apparently, watching her mother completely freak out was a little more entertaining than any type of flesh wound she may have sustained. And  then.....out of the curtain of my tears, I saw it.

On her little toe, was the tiniest cut I've ever seen in. my. life. Almost a nick, if you will. One that I could only deduce, by looking at her other foot, had been inflicted by her own little wolverine toenails. Toenails that I had yet to clip, for fear of cutting her (Don't worry readers, the idiocy of this hasn't escaped me.).

I guess, what I'm trying to convey, is that when it comes to my children, if they get hurt (and they will), I'm never going to not get upset. I may need to work on being a little more calm though. Anyway, this where you can weigh in with your own stories...or simply laugh at how ridiculous this author happens to be....OR....just take this story into your day knowing that you may not want to put me on your speed dial for times of crisis.......ugh.