Freak Out

That's almost what I did when I happened to check on the happenings in my house while changing a nasty diaper. I looked around, ready to verbally squelch any shenanigans, and saw Lizzy in the kitchen holding on to this:



Eight inches.
One hand was on the handle and one was on the blade.
Heart panic.
Okay, stay calm.
Don't flip out and scare her.
Can't leave a kid covered in feces on the changing table (where he WILL fall off - that's a given) and yet I need to get to her before there's a horrible, horrible, accident.
Pray, pray, pray.
Finish the diaper in .5 seconds which seems like 5 minutes.
Calmly walk to Lizzy and equally calmly have her give the knife to me.
She does.
I finally feel physically ill from the thoughts of what could have happened.

One day she wasn't tall enough to reach the knife drawer and the next day she was. There is no longer a "knife drawer".