Wow. What a day. Today my entire family and extended family went on a Mexican Riviera cruise without me. My Grandparents' 50th anniversary is this week and they took everyone to celebrate. Unfortunately for me, they don't allow babies younger than 6 months on the ship. Lame. So, I drove John to LAX to meet everyone flying in from Utah to catch the Princess Cruise shuttle.
I got to visit with my family for a few minutes before they left for the port so that was fun. I was sad as I watched the shuttle drive away with everyone I love in it, leaving me there in front of Delta Baggage Claim 1, but I survived.
The first part of the crazy day started there at the airport. William had a total blow-out. While he was in the sling. Poop was all over him, the sling and the front of my shirt. It was lovely. Luckily I was parked close and was able to get him all cleaned up in the back of the trunk. Then he was pissed and I had to nurse him there in the parking garage. Once he was happy, we finally were able to make the 75 minute drive home.
And then, I locked my keys in the car. Now this has happened to me a few times -- always when I'm with someone else or while I'm on my phone. I just apparently can't be distracted while exiting my car, otherwise I conveniently leave my keys sitting on the seat or something.
So, I was talking to John on the phone and got out of the car, leaving the keys behind. And William. Yep. I locked my baby in the car.
First I called roadside assistance who informed me that in the case of a child being locked in, I had to call the police. So, I called the police station only to get about a million recorded options but no way to actually talk to someone. Meanwhile, William had woken up and was looking around wondering why he's sitting in a completely silent car.
So, I called 911. 911 is for emergencies, right? Like, if you're having a heart attack or you've cut off your finger or something horrible and urgent, right? Well, the first 5 (FIVE) times I dialed 911 I got a busy signal. On the sixth try, it finally rang and I got a recording telling me that all the dispatchers were busy and to please hold. I was on hold for over 4 minutes. People can die in 4 minutes.
Finally someone took my call and said they were sending out a deputy. Even though William was screaming his little lungs out by this time, I was grateful that at least I wasn't calling with some sort of life-threatening problem.
Fifteen minutes later a deputy and a fire truck showed up. It took a cop and 3 firefighters about 10 minutes to unlock my door (not that I'm not grateful that they showed up and did it) -- when the roadside assistant guys have rescued me in the past, it's taken him about 7.5 seconds.
So anyway, there I was, looking through the back windshield at my baby screaming hysterically while neighbors watched out their windows at the fire engine, police car, and guys in uniform working on my car. It was definitely a low-point in my mothering career. And I still had poop all over my shirt.
So how was y'alls Saturday?