When the baby proofing was complete, we were proud of our secure little nest, safety screws, bolts and all. We slept better at night knowing we protected our offspring with the best Home Depot had to offer.

I faced my first safety crisis when, at 3:00 AM, I found myself with a screaming newborn, a screwdriver and a baby swing that was clearly dead in the water. Previously, I felt secure and smug knowing that the batteries were tightly screwed into the swing, safe from my colicky newborn's tiny taste buds. And, now I cursed and snarled under my breath at stripped bolts and @#$% safety regulations.

I figured a wee bending of the rules was acceptable given the late hour and found the out dated electric swing complete with the long frayed electrical cord. This was when I lost my first thumbnail, prying away at the electric outlet safety cover. Nursing my thumb, I found my way into the bathroom. That safety lock on the medicine cabinet put up a good fight before I broke it in half, cracking my second thumbnail below the quick.

Not one to take an injury lightly (insert wince here), I rushed into the kitchen in search for an icepack only to be reminded of the hazards of the kitchen by our expandable baby gate (which was fully expanded at the time, thanks for asking.)

That was it. I had had enough. This gate deserved an aggressive hurl into the back of the closet. And hurled it was, following a 10 minute battle of the wills between myself and the closet doorknob safety cover. (Was it push and then twist clockwise? Or twist counterclockwise while simultaneously pushing? Perhaps a cryptic clockwise-counterclockwise-Morse Code-a la DaVinci Code- back and forth combination twist?) I reached a brief low point when my front teeth made aggressive contact with the doorknob safety cover. I then decided to involve hubby who was snoring in bed.

I believe my rag doll body did a complete 360 degree spin mid-air after my foot became entangled in our safe infant car seat that had been innocently sitting in the living room. The roar that emanated from my lungs echoed through the baby monitor, re-awakening colicky baby and causing hubby to reach for our safety flashlight under the bed. That flashlight rushed down the hall, in hubby's hand and was beamed into my spinning eyeballs as I lay, collapsed on the floor, battered and bleeding, but happy, nonetheless, to be reclining peacefully.

Death, by baby safety...quite the heroic exit.

Submitted by Mammatalk (view blog)