Some kids are just born tricksters.
Take my daughter, for example, who at the ripe old age of 20 months pulled the world’s best/worst April Fools Day prank on me, and locked me in the bathroom while we were alone during the day. How did she manage such a feat, you may ask? Well, it’s a multi-step process that she mastered in one try:
Step 1: Shut bathroom door.
Step 2: Open adjacent laundry room door as wide as it will go, thereby wedging it against the bathroom door, and preventing it from opening.
Step 3: Refuse all instruction shouted frantically through shut bathroom door, AT ALL COSTS.
So what exactly goes through a person’s mind after becoming locked in a bathroom, separated from their toddler, who is free in a house full of possibilities and potential danger?
- Holy shit. This can’t be happening. This is… funny? How absurd it would be if I was actually locked in my bathroom, while my toddler had the run of the house all to herself for an undetermined amount of time. I can’t really be locked in here.
- Holy shit. This is happening. What. The. Fuck? How am I locked in my bathroom? What piece of furniture do we possess that a 25 pound kid could drag over in the 2 seconds it took for her to shut the door, and for me to try to open it, that would be so heavy I couldn’t move it? Is she, as I’ve often thought, an actual baby witch who has just cast a spell on the door? How would Harry Potter open a door?
- Holy shit. Did I leave anything super dangerous, like a box of poisonous snakes or an open container of tar, easily accessible on the floor? Is the front door locked? Can she reach the oven buttons?
- Holy shit. I have to get out of here. I have to keep the baby near me, and I have to get out of here. I have to say something to keep her interested, but not tip my hand that I’m a little panicked.
- Holy shit. She sensed panic in my voice. The baby is panicking. The baby is screaming. Okay. I will… I will… use a bath toy to… um. Okay. I need an ax. I will sing a song. I will sing a song and think about how Harry Potter would conjure up an ax.
- Holy shit. I need to reread the Harry Potter series. Expecto Patronus? Muggle wart? Wiggle blood? Twinkle Twinkle, little baby, I hope that’s not you digging in the liter box. Fuck.
- Holy shit. I have to break the door down. Forget Harry Potter, I need to conjure up Patrick Swayze, a la Dalton in Road House, and round house kick this door to the ground. I should google how to kick a door down.
- Holy shit! I have my phone!? I have my PHONE! I will phone a friend!
- Holy shit. Help is on the way. We are saved. We are saved as soon as daddy can walk 10 blocks. Daddy should run. I should call Daddy back and tell him to run. Thank God I didn’t kick the door down.
- 10. Holy shit. It’s been 45 seconds. Why isn’t Daddy here yet? Why isn’t he sprinting through traffic, like a skinny, Cuban, Usaine Bolt, running as fast as he can to get here and free me from my prison?
- Holy shit. This is actually kind of romantic, screaming baby and musty bath mat aside. When else has my husband had an opportunity to “save me?” He’s my hero!
- Holy shit. If I didn’t have a kid, getting locked in the bathroom would be a spa day. I could take a bath, and shave my legs. I could exfoliate or moisturize. I could rearrange the bathroom cabinet, or take a nap. Or I could cut my hair. Yep. If I didn’t have a kid I would cut my hair. And fo’ sho, I would regret it.
- Holy shit. I think my kid actually loves me. I mean, she is really upset. I had no idea she would be this upset. And listen to her saying “up please?” What a good little girl. She can only be this upset if she actually loves me. Poor little poodle pie.
- HOLY SHIT!!!!! WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG?! JUST GET HERE. GET HERE NOW BECAUSE THE ONLY WAY FOR ME TO KEEP HER HERE AND NOT SCREAMING IS TO SMUSH MY FACE UP AGAINST THE BOTTOM OF THE DOOR AND BLAST “SHAKE IT OFF” AND MY PHONE BATTERY IS DYING AND THERE ARE PUBES ON THE FLOOR. GET HERE!
- Holy shit! He’s HERE! He’s HERE! I’m FREE!
- Don’t make fun of me. Don’t make me explain in detail how it happened. Just open the door, and let me hug and kiss our little baby, even though she’s covered in snot and tears, and has a booger the size of a garbanzo bean on her cheek. Let me make sure she knows I would never intentionally leave her.
While we got away relatively unscathed, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I didn’t have my phone, or if my husband didn’t answer. Lesson learned, folks! Keep your phone close, and your doors open! Alternatively, you could become a witch, or learn how to break down doors using nothing but the power of a well delivered round house kick. Your choice.
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