SERIOUSLY Stranger Than Fiction (Parts One and Two)

Part One: Prayer

I'll be honest: prayer has never been a big thing for me. I spent most of my formative years as a staunch agnostic (yes, that probably is an oxymoron -- decidedly undecided). For many more years I was a kind of spiritual wanderer, searching for a home. Now that I'm happily settled into my identity as a Jew, I like to concentrate on prayers of gratitude and the ritual prayers that surround my heart during Shabbat and holiday services like comfortable old sweaters.

I have never been one to consult the Almighty on big decisions -- at least not consciously -- nor do I tend to pray for help when I'm in trouble. It's just not my style. Sometimes I like to think that G-d knows this about me and maybe even finds it amusing, the way I do when my two and a half year old is trying to jump high enough to reach the ceiling by himself.

This week, however, has been a different story.

Even though I work very hard to keep good emotional boundaries, sometimes my professional life affects me personally. I'm human after all. In the past couple of weeks, I have taken on one of the most challenging and heart-wrenching cases I've ever worked with, a child (and family) suffering so cruelly from OCD that it hurts my heart.

I can't say more about that for fear of compromising confidentiality, but suffice it to say I caught myself saying a prayer this week, that I would be able to help this family in some small way and would not add to their frustrations by being useless.

Part Two: Horror Film

Those thoughts, however, were eclipsed by my own crisis on Tuesday. We had a new part-time nanny, who had been with us for about three weeks (2 days/week). Though we adored her at first and my almost seven-month-old seemed to love her, too, things just didn't seem right after the first few days. There was nothing glaringly wrong, just little things that didn't quite add up. Things that made hubs and me just a touch concerned about her personal life and overall stability. I had tried addressing our concerns with her, and she responded appropriately, but I still wasn't 100% satisfied.

That day I was on my way to lunch and had a sudden impulse to drive by the house, just to make sure everything was okay. As our house came into view, time slowed to a crawl and my brain struggled to process the fact that the sitter's car was not in the driveway (she did not have permission to take little Fozzie Bear anywhere except on walks, and I knew she didn't have a car seat base installed in her vehicle).

I slammed the car into park and ran inside, frantically looking for a note or some other indication of where she might be. My son, the diaper bag, and the carrier part of the car seat were all missing. Everything else was in place. Panic rising, I called the nanny from both my cell phone and the house phone. She didn't answer.

I called 911. The operator took my name, address, the nanny's name, a description of the car, etc. I forced myself to be calm while giving her the information. Only when she asked me to describe my son and what he was wearing when I saw him last did my voice break, threatening to bubble over in suppressed fear. Visions of an Amber Alert with my child's name and information raced through my mind.

I paced wildly and willed myself not to vomit, trying to keep the horrifying possibilities at bay. The operator asked if I had any reason to be suspicious of the nanny, and I gave her what information I had, including some things that weren't necessarily incriminating, but had given me pause. Some of those I won't mention here.

But I knew she was having financial difficulties. I knew she had a boyfriend (and what sounded like a rather tumultuous relationship). I didn't know his name or the kind of car he drove, or what he did for a living. I knew she was from out of state, but I didn't know the names or locations of friends and family of hers who lived in the area. Why hadn't I asked more questions? The operator said she would send a patrol car.

I called my husband to come home using the other phone while the operator dispatched the unit to our house. She said that I could hang up and wait for the officer, but I couldn't bear the thought of being alone with my thoughts, so she stayed on the line with me until he arrived.

The next half hour was far and away the worst of my life. Talking to the officers, leading them around the house, continuing to call and text the nanny. Watching my husband pull into the driveway on two wheels and immediately begin reciting everything he knew about the nanny and her car. And, praying as I never have before that my child would be okay.

It was 31 minutes between the time I called my husband and the time the nanny finally returned his frantic calls to say she was on her way back with the baby. Hubs made her stay on the phone with him the entire time and continually report her location to make sure it made sense to him and that she was headed directly back. [Have I mentioned that I married the most amazing, brilliant man?] Not until she was in view of our house did he inform her that the police were there. All told, I would guess about 40 minutes elapsed between the time I discovered Fozzie missing and the time he was back safely in my arms.

The police officers, who were very kind to me, seemed mildly concerned that some kind of violence might erupt when the nanny got back (and trust me, gouging her eyes out did cross my mind); but once she was back all I wanted to do was hold my baby boy and never let him go. I also had to fight the urge to go pick up Monkey from school three hours early and never let him go, either.

Sanity prevailed on all fronts, however, and I was able to calmly listen to the nanny's pathetic-even-if-true explanation for her ridiculous and irresponsible behavior, and then just as calmly tell her to please take a few minutes to gather her things because she would not be back. There were so many bad decisions, from leaving the house in the first place to not calling me or leaving a note, to putting the carrier in the car without its base, to not keeping her phone on her while she was gone. And that's all if I believed her story about the supposed emergency that took her away.

The cops took her information/driver's license and filed a report, but did not ask us if we wanted to press charges and -- a little surprisingly -- did not give her a ticket for the car seat violation. I think they were just glad the incident was resolved, and I was too relieved to care either. After checking him over carefully and kissing him like crazy, I canceled the rest of my day and put an exhausted and disoriented Fozzie down for a nap.

My mother-in-law was kind enough to drive up from Macon to be with me -- and to get her hands on the little guy -- for the rest of the afternoon. The five of us went out for dinner after school/work, and the day ended far better than I could've imagined at noon.

It's funny, if I hadn't been through that experience, I think what happened the next morning might've thrown me for a serious loop....

Stay tuned!