Abby has gone from a smack-the-baby-on-the-head-and-steal-her-binky kind of sister to a very cute and considerate little girl. All of the sudden, SHE wants to give Ellie the bottle. She even stops and dabs Ellie’s mouth with a blanket. Yes, she pushes the bottle in too far and makes Ellie gag, but it’s still nice of her.

It is SO freakin’ sweet I can barely stand it. Not that I miss it, but what happened to my little Tasmanian devil???

Here’s Abby, who crawled unto Ellie’s playmat. Just to be near to her. Seriously.

Ellie recently added some “real” food to her diet. This concoction is her favorite: one part rice cereal, one part water, one part formula powder, and sometimes one part fruit. It smells and looks terrible–like drywall spackle. But she loves it!

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.

I was just looking through some pictures of Ellie on her “birth day.” Don’t worry, they aren’t all graphic or anything. At least not in the way you’d expect. Upon closer inspection, I realized what she was really doing with her, um, middle finger.