Smart Car: Dumb Mom
Three weeks ago I had my scariest experience of motherhood yet. Scarier even than when they cut into me for my c-section and I could feel it, because this time, it wasn’t me in danger, it was my baby.
Four weeks ago we got a minivan, I love it so much. Excuse me, I love her so much. She’s a white Chrysler Pacifica hybrid that we call Vanna White (naming credit to my brilliant friend, Molly). Vanna has made our lives so much better. We don’t spend nearly as much money on gas, I’m not worried about her crapping out on me every time I drive (it’s the first car I’ve owned from the current decade) and the wheelchair fits in the back without breaking it down at all. If you bought a copy of Matt’s book, thank you, you helped us buy Vanna! A bonus I didn’t anticipate is Hazel loves exploring inside. I’ve been letting her play in Vanna when I put the trash cans out Thursday mornings, much easier than holding her on my hip while I drag each can out.
Three weeks ago we were getting ready to go to The Y for family day and open swim. I let Hazel hang out in Vanna while I walked Matt from the bedroom to the driveway. It takes us about five minutes to walk to the car and it was a cloudy chilly day. We’ve had Vanna for just over a week at this point. What's the harm in letting Hazel climb around? I knew she was very capable of climbing and navigating between the seats by now, yet, it was still an exciting and relatively new space to her. When we got to the car I realized we had a problem. Hazel had locked herself inside. I don’t know how it happened, I didn’t think Vanna could lock with the keys inside. When I walk up to her with the diaper bag on my back, Hazel on my hip, and Matt’s gate belt in my hand, it’s not a problem. Vanna senses the keys in whatever pocket I’ve hidden them in and unlocks for me.
I thought surely, with the keys in the cup holder, she would know they were inside, and not lock. I was wrong. When I think about it, it makes sense, what if you want to lock yourself in the car for safety? Vanna was just trying to keep Hazel safe. Vanna assumed, seeing as how someone capable of locking the car was in it, someone capable of unlocking the car was in there too. She was wrong. Or was she?
That someone was my 19 month old daughter who somehow locked herself in the car and was now smiling at me through the front passenger seat window. My mind immediately went into the problem solving mode that it’s so used to at this point. First things first, get Matt into a safe spot, he can’t stand for long, the last thing I needed was for him to fall and then have two emergencies on my hands. Again, it was a cloudy chilly day, so I had some time. But time before what? Before my baby became a statistic on a sad bus stop?! Ok, don’t freak out, Amber. I quickly got a chair for Matt to sit down on and brought my attention back to Hazel. I walked up to the window and smiled at her, not wanting her to know how scared I was.
ME: Hi baby girl!
HAZEL: Giggle
ME: Can you get the keys? Llaves?
I point to the keys, smiling, maybe a little too big. Hazel turns around to look at them, stoops down and grabs them.
ME: Great job! Now push the button!
I mime pushing the button on the keys. I’m not sure if this is how she locked the doors to begin with or not. She looks at my miming hands, eyes bright with understanding.
HAZEL: Gate!
She stoops down to grab the gate clicker on the seat next to her. She holds the clicker at me and pushes the button laughing, repeating “gate!” over and over. The gate to our front yard opens, pauses, closes, opens again. I look at Matt sitting behind me and raise my eyebrows.
ME: I guess she thought the button I was pretending to click was the clicker for the gate. But she’s listening really well, I think we can figure this out.
MATT: Ok!
He’s being supportive and understanding and I’m so relieved he’s not calling me a horrible mother. He would never. But if the positions were switched, I don’t know how understanding I’d be. In my mind I’m definitely calling myself a horrible mother. I’m the reason for those billboards and bus stop signs about not leaving your baby in the car. I’m freaking out internally. On the outside I’m cool, calm and collected.
I get Hazel to pick up the keys again. As I tell her to push the button I’m googling “how to unlock Chrysler Pacifica with keys inside?” I learn from reddit that I’m not the first person to do this and that there is an app. Of course there’s an app. I download it and enter in my information. But the car is not in the system yet and it doesn’t recognize the vin no matter how many times I type it in. Typical app. There’s a help button. I push it and tell the man that my baby is locked in the car. He looks for me in the system, no luck. He looks up the vin, no luck. He’s looking for other ways.
In between answering his questions, I am talking to Hazel. I’ve got her holding the keys again and she’s trying to push the buttons with her tiny toddler fingers. She really is listening so well.
ME: Keep pushing the buttons, good girl!
As I watch her I realize this is impossible, this can’t be how she locked the car. The buttons are too small and hard to push for her tiny sausage fingers. I scan and see the locks on the door, on the little ledge just below the window. Maybe she stepped on the door and pushed the lock button with her perfect baby toes? I think to myself.
ME: Hazel, climb up on the door. Put your footsie up here!
I point. She looks at me and points at her foot.
ME: Yes, that’s right, put your footsie up here! Climb up to mommy!
I have my phone on speaker sitting on the side mirror, still talking to the Chrysler guy. I know in the back of my head that if there is any delay, if the sun comes out, if she somehow gets the car started, I will have to break a window. I’m ready for that possibility, but we aren’t there yet. Hazel pushes her face and nose against the window, laughing at me.
ME: That’s right! Climb up to Mommy, come get me!
I make faces back at her. The Chrysler guy offers to connect me with roadside assistance, to which I reply “yes, of course, please!” At that moment Hazel tumbles backwards onto the ground, next to the seat. A slow, soft tumble, but it scares her. She looks at me to check if she’s ok.
ME: Oh baby, that was surprising, huh? Good thing it’s soft down there!
She smiles and climbs back onto the seat. At that moment I realize the window is an inch open, she must have stepped on the window button before falling. I stick my fingers in and try to force it down. Matt, who’s step dad was a mechanic, calls out to me.
MATT: Push it in.
I try pushing in and down at the same time, nothing. The phone is ringing through to roadside assistance now. I grab the phone and run inside, into my closet and grab a wire hanger. I straighten out the hanger as I run back outside. I stick the hanger down into the window, trying to use it to push the unlock button. Hazel giggles grabbing at the hanger, thinking it’s a game.
ME: No, don’t touch that Hazel.
More giggling and grabbing.
ME: Don’t touch, caca!
HAZEL: Caca!
She knowingly points at the hanger but doesn’t touch it. Hazel’s nanny, Mimi, who we adore, was born in Columbia and speaks Spanish to her. Hence “llaves.” One time Mimi was changing Hazel’s diaper and she tried to reach down. Mimi stopped her saying “no, caca!” Now everything that is a “no no” is “caca” including things Hazel doesn’t want, like going inside when it’s 90 degrees out.
I continue trying to use the hanger to unlock the door while a robot asks me a series of questions about what roadside assistance I need. There’s no number to press for “baby stuck in car” but I follow the prompts and they say a text will be sent to me to set up service. All the while fishing with the hanger and reminding Hazel that it is “caca” which reminds me of “llaves.” I have an idea.
ME: Hazel, get the llaves.
I point down on the seat where they are now. She looks down, registering what I’m saying.
ME: Yes, llaves, get them.
She looks at the keys. I try not to imagine them slipping through the crack between the seat and the backrest. They don’t! She grabs the keys. I smile and clap.
ME: Yes, good girl!
She smiles back at me. I know having her push the button isn’t possible, but I wonder if she can pass me the keys through the tiny opening in the window.
ME: Hand Mommy the keys, hand Mommy the llaves.
I wiggle my fingers at her from the top of the window. She follows my gaze, looking between my face, the window and the keys. I can see her little toddler brain processing. She lifts the keys up to the window, she has to reach quite a bit. The sun is starting to break through the clouds.
ME: Yes! Good girl! Give Mommy the keys!
We reach each other, I grab the keys, but they are too fat to fit through. I look back up at the sun and do a mental scan of my house for something hard and pointy to break the window, and a blanket to lie over the glass to reach in. But I’m not giving up on these keys. I pull them harder, fighting the, not quite flexible enough, black seal on the top of the window. Finally my mom-strength wins, they pop over to my side! Oh, thank God. Quickly, I unlock the door, make sure Hazel isn’t leaning against it, and open it. I grab my baby and hug her in my arms.
HAZEL: Mommy! Hug!
ME: I’m so proud of you baby!
Apparently you’re not supposed to say that, but you’re not supposed to lock your baby in the car either. I bring her over to Matt and we all hug as I let out a sigh of relief.
Then I load us into the car and we go to family day at The YMCA. On the drive there Matt and I talk about the incident.
ME: Well, that was terrifying.
MATT: Definitely
ME: I’m glad Hazel wasn’t scared, I was working hard to not transfer my anxiety to her.
MATT: She wasn’t scared at all, I didn’t want to laugh but she was hilarious. The image of her pressing her nose against the window is forever ingrained in my brain.
ME: I know! And her giggling while pressing the clicker? “Gate! Gate! Gate!” I can’t wait to tell her about it when she’s older. Thank you for being chill, I didn’t want you to know how scared I was either.
MATT: You were cool as a cucumber.
ME: I just kept imagining Hazel somehow starting the car, opening the gate, putting it in reverse and then me having to chase it down the street and break a window with the footrest of your wheelchair. That was the plan.
MATT: Quick thinking. I always knew you would be a good mother.
I can’t believe he sees it that way, I’m so lucky, I love him so much. The whole experience was terrifying, but peppered through with enough love and humor to make it bearable. And I guess that’s a microcosm of life, terrifying with just enough hilarity and love to make it bearable. Worth it. That’s the moral I guess. Also, never trust technology. I’m watching you, Vanna.
We did make it to The Y and family day but I forgot Hazel’s swim diaper