Oops! by Carolyn

It had been a long day of no adult conversation; no one to talk to except a 4-month-old child. Again.

Most of my days were that way, so when my husband called to tell me that he would be late coming home that evening, I decided I had to get out of the house. I settled the baby into his car seat and headed to the mall. Not really because I needed anything, just for something to do out in the real world where there were other people. Sometimes the four walls of a house can get a little constrictive.

I shopped for a while, window shopping mostly, and then decided to head back home. By that time it was dark, bringing some welcome relief from the sizzling heat that August in Texas brings.

The huge mall parking lot was mostly empty by then. As many women do, I felt a little uneasy about my vulnerability as I pushed the stroller down the lane, but I reached my car without mishap. I unloaded the baby from the stroller into the car seat and buckled him in. I closed the door to the back seat and pulled on the handle of the driver's side door. It didn't budge. I ran around the car and tugged on all of the other door handles, hoping that one of them would be unlocked. No such luck. As I peered through the window, I could see my keys on the front seat, taunting me.

Now I had a dilemma. Should I leave the baby in the car and go find help, or should I stay with the baby and wait for help to find me? Understand that these were the days before the widespread use of cell phones - I had no way to call anyone. I dithered a while, looking anxiously around me at the vast, almost empty, dark stretch of asphalt - partly to see if I could locate help, partly to keep an eye out for possible danger.

After a few minutes, the baby realized he was alone in a dark, hot car. He opened his sweet little angel mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed. That, of course, shattered my tenuous hold on calmness and made me cry, too.

Finally, help arrived. A man walking out to his car saw (or maybe heard) my distress and asked if I needed help. After he heard my story, he offered to go get the security guard from the mall to assist me. A few minutes later, the security guard tootled up in his little cart. He pulled out a slim Jim and began working it slowly through the gap around the car window to reach the door lock from the inside.

Throughout this delicate operation, the baby continued to scream. He had worked himself into a fine frenzy. His pudgy little face was bright red, his cheeks were tear-soaked. I crooned useless reassurances to him through the car window. He continued to be mightily angry.

The security guard worked and fumbled and tried again and again, but could not get the slim Jim to work. Finally giving up, he offered to call the police to see if they could help.

So, added to my fears about how hot the baby was - literally and figuratively - I began to fear what would happen when the police arrived. My fears were two-fold: Would I be arrested for child endangerment? Or would a news crew show up and shoot video of what a bad mother looks like to be the top feature on the 10:00 news? Maybe both?

Well, I am happy to report that neither of those fears came to pass. The police arrived, had a good chuckle or two at my predicament, and had my car unlocked within a few seconds.

I wasn't chuckling. I was hugging my baby, crying tears of joy and remorse, and thanking God.