posted
In my birth prep class, we were warned -- repeatedly, and in strong terms -- NOT to try driving anywhere for at least 2 weeks postpartum, no matter how great we felt. I was good; I got driven places until 2 weeks postpartum.
At two weeks and one day, I figured we were ready for our first outing.
Got the baby all bundled up and buckled in her seat. Got me all ready. Purse? Check. Well-stocked diaper bag? Check. Keys? Yup. Ok, out the front door.
Unlocked car, got babyseat buckled in tightly, stowed diaper bag and purse, closed car doors, went around to driver's door. Door won't open. Keys? On front passenger seat, next to purse. All doors (this car did not have electronic locks) locked. Baby sleeping calmly. Mommy trying not to have hysterics.
Thank goodness for wire hangers, a car old enough to be able to be OPENED with a wire hanger, and a calm neighbor who managed the trick.
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posted
I thought you were going to say that you didn't put the baby in the car seat.
That reminds me. Once, when my husband and I moved for a short while to Georgia, we drove the U-haul to my mom's house where we spent a couple days. We locked the keys in the U-haul and didn't really want to pay for a locksmith. My mom seriously suggested that we lock my eleven month old baby in the house and call the cops, telling them that our house keys were on the key ring in the U-haul and would they break in so I could get them? It would be an emergency, so it would be free. My mom is psycho. How am I still alive? Proof that God does exist!
posted
I do stuff like that all the time. On every trip, I usually have at least one airport related disaster. I get lost once a week, I forget important things, and I usually stand somebody up at least once a month.
I really try otherwise. It's happened so often now that I just take it in stride. This stuff simply happens. You just can't get upset. There's almost nothing that can't be fixed, although it usually costs a little extra money, time or oodles of apologies to do so.
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My dad bought a skiboat when I was 13. We drove to the nearest lake - an hour and a half away - with a caravan of almost twenty people. When we get there, my dad discovers he has lost the boat keys.
Despair.
They hot-wire the boat, which is then fun because under no circumstances can we cut the motor.
When we arrived home, my dad found the keys in his swimsuit zipper pocket.
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My mom is psycho. How am I still alive? Proof that God does exist!
