The one where I get locked out of the house
‘Oh…I’ll…call you back’ I said to my mum, who I was on the phone to at the time. Florence, who I was holding, poked me in the face with an inquisitive ‘Bababamama.’
I’m no stranger to being on the wrong side of the door, minus keys – it had accidentally happened before on a windy day, when I was 24 weeks pregnant, and my neighbour had gallantly scaled our tall back fence and jumped into our garden, teenager-at-Glastonbury style. But this time it was 10am and he was, unfortunately, at work.
Things that went though my head, at once: gaaaah / PANIC / Who has the spare keys? / Is my friend with the spare keys at work today? / How long would it take Alex to come home from central London? / Can you courier keys? / Arhghhhhh! / Have I left my straighteners on despite not using them for about a week? / It’s cold, isn’t it? / I know she can open the door but can she do it every time? / Am I a terrible mother?
‘This is hilarious, you did this to me once!’ texted my mum, from the comfortable high point of being both inside her house and thirty-something years past parenting the pre-school version of me. ‘Let me iiiiiiiin!’ I shouted through the letterbox. ‘Do you need any help?’ a random passer-by offered.
As lots of people pointed out, once we were safely back inside, it was exactly like the plot of children’s book Alfie Gets in First (if Alfie’s mum had gone outside with his sister Annie Rose, minus keys, to show off her new front garden on FaceTime, in the style of a ridiculous person, and Alfie had shut the door in a bit of a grump about not being able to watch CBeebies all day, channelling all the Elsa he could muster. Thanks, Frozen).
Oh, motherhood. Having babies can open so many doors for you. Then, occasionally you get them slammed in your face.
And on the plus side, this kind of day = great story for the grandchildren. Also, a good reminder of why I’m never leaving the house minus keys again.