Forty-Two Minutes

42 minutes...

That's how long I was locked outside the house while Gerry was locked inside.  How long I stood in our backyard thinking about all the ways he could get hurt while I was stuck outside.  How long my heart pounded while I tried to keep Bailey calm because, "Mom!  Mom!  Gerry's stuck inside!"  How long it took before someone was able to come and rescue us.

42 minutes.

I had corralled the kids and brought them outside to burn off some energy before lunch and, as always, I kept our kitchen door {that leads out to the backyard} propped open.  The dead bolt on that door is broken and when we leave the house we have to lock the bottom lock, so I always check the lock before we go outside to make sure it's open.

Bailey and Gerry ran around like two crazy kids, chasing Ryder and climbing in and out of the jungle gym/slide set out there.  When Bailey decided she wanted to have a catch, she ran inside to get a ball and Gerry stood up to follow her.  Being bigger and steadier on her feet than he is, she made it back outside, ball in hand, long before Gerry made his way to the back door.  Bailey tossed me the ball and, as I caught it, I noticed G in the back doorway.  Just as I was watching him swing the door shut I realized that I never checked the lock before we came outside.

I ran to the door and grabbed the handle and, sure enough, it was locked.  And there was Gerry, standing on the other side of the door with a big grin on his face, not realizing that now he was trapped in there.

This cannot be happening.  No way did that just happen.  Okay...no big deal.  I'll check the front door.

I walked around to the front of the house to find that the front screen door was locked.  Erring on the side of caution, I always keep the screen door locked when we're home.  No biggie, I think, I'll just tear through the screen and open the door.  I'll admit that I felt pretty bad-ass while ripping through that older-than-I-am screen.  MacGuyver's got nothing on me, guys.  Except that the front door was also locked.  A quick search of the mailbox revealed that there was no spare key hidden inside.  The windows around the house were also all locked.  As was the storm door that leads from the backyard down to the basement {I don't know if I'm the smartest or the dumbest homeowner ever}.  And that's when it really hit me.

My 15-month-old son is locked inside the house all by himself.

And then I panicked.  Naturally, I called my mom first because I always call my mom first when I'm freaking out...but she didn't have her car with her at work today.  She told me that my brother and sister-in-law were both home from work today {God works in mysterious ways} so I called them.  They were at the hospital picking up some medical records, but could be here in thirty minutes or so.  After I hung up with them, I called Scott and the beginning of our conversation went like this:

Me:  How soon can you be home?  I have a little emergency here.
Scott:  About a half hour.  Is everything okay?  What's going on?
Me:  I'm locked out back and Gerry is inside the house...
Scott:  How the f**k did that happen?

How, indeed.

I texted my dad next:

Me:  I have a slight emergency here...do you have a key to my house?
Dad:  Not sure.  Why?
Me:  I'm locked out back and G is locked inside the house.
Dad:  And you call that a "slight emergency"?

He wasn't even sure he had a spare key to the house but he was going to leave work anyway to drive home and see if he could find one there.  In between texting and calling everyone I could think of, I kept going back to the door to check on Gerry.  The first couple of times I peeked in he laughed when he saw me.  By the third time, he was standing there crying and holding his arms out for me to pick him up.  "I'm so sorry, buddy.  Mommy can't get to you but Uncle TJ is a half hour away."  Obviously, he had no idea what I was saying, but it made me feel better.  I moved away from the door for a minute and could still hear him crying.

The next time I peered in the door I couldn't see him.  I stood there, my hands framing my face, and I searched every inch of the rooms I could see through the little window.  No Gerry.  I started thinking about all the ways he could have gotten hurt in there while I was stuck outside.  What if he fell down the stairs?  What if he managed to climb in the tub and turn on the faucet {which he can do now} and drown?  What if he strangled himself with the cord to my blow dryer {which I keep in a basket next to my dresser}?  OMG,what if he found a coin or something on the floor and put it in his mouth and was choking on it?  All these scenarios were running through my mind and I just kept picturing him a few minutes before, peering up at me from the other side of the door with his arms outstretched for me and big fat tears running down his cheeks because I wasn't coming in the door and picking him up like he wanted me to.

I took one more look inside the window, hoping to see Gerry, and there was my brother.  Hallelujah!  He opened the door and I asked him where Gerry was.  "I don't know.  No one's down here."  I ran upstairs with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, fully expecting to find Gerry unconscious.  I ran through the bedrooms and the bathroom, making my way down the hall.  I went into Bailey's room last and there he was.  Snuggled up on a giant bean bag chair in the corner with his favorite blanket, which he must have pulled through the slats of his crib, and a bag of jelly beans in his lap {that he must have climbed up on the kitchen table to reach}.  Just sitting there, happily munching on jelly beans and holding onto his blanket, not a care in the world.

I scooped him up and smothered his face with kisses and told him that he's lucky he's so small and cute because if he were older he'd be in big trouble right now.  And then we went downstairs, calm as can be, and I started making lunch while trying to will my hands to stop shaking.

I feel so stupid.  And so relieved.  And, in case any of you are wondering, I will be purchasing multiple spare keys this weekend.