This afternoon my lovely dad took time out of his working day to take me and my youngest #0938er to the car garage. It had been in all day for its service and all I needed to do was collect it.
It was absolutely chucking it down, so dad delivered me right to the door, I ran in (or rather skidded and slipped my way in) to pay and get the keys.
Done in ten minutes, the lovely young guy on the service desk walked me to the door and waved me farewell….or so he thought.
The heavens had opened up even more since I’d been inside, so my dad got out of his car to cover me with an umbrella whilst I transferred the pushchair, bags, general toddler paraphernalia, into my car. My little man was left on the passenger seat qwhere he’d been playing with his grandad, quite happily humming ‘Brum Brum’.
The last of the items moved over, I slammed my dads boot shut to prevent it from getting any more water logged. Oh how I wish I hadn’t done that.
“Just need to transfer the most precious item now”, I said to my dad. Only…I couldn’t open the door. My dad tried his side – no such luck. The back doors? Nope. The boot, I’d only just shut it? Crap.
Ok. Don’t panic. If your toddler is going to get himself locked in car, the best place to do it is at the garage right?
I ran back to the service desk, told them my plight and asked them to throw a couple of service engineers my way. The young guy was so calm. I’d by no means reached hysterical mum status, but am pretty sure there would have been a slightly crazed look of panic behind my eyes. He walked me once more to the door, asking details of my dads car make enroute, then dashed round to the service area to get help.
I returned to the passenger window. Yet to realise anything was wrong my gorgeous car mad boy, gave me the most beautiful of grins. “Hello darling, can you press this button here for mummy?” He just smiled. But then the cavalry arrived. One by one the mechanics appeared at the drivers side window. Four in total. He looked across at them and back at me. Sensing something wasn’t quite right the bottom lip went and his hand reached for the window.
As they did their work (a wire hook worked a treat) I tried to keep his attention focused on me. “Press this button sweetheart! Can you grab that handle?” Bless my little poppet. He understood all I said and did indeed press the button and pull the handle. But let’s face it cars aren’t built with the ability of 22 month old in mind are they?! (Thank goodness).
It probably only took ten minutes to free my little car captive but to him (and me) it felt an awful lot longer. As the minutes ticked by his fingers began to grasp at the glass where I’d placed my hand in a rather feeble attempt at a reassuring presence. His sobbing was uncontrollable and it was all I could do to stop myself from whipping off my drenched Mac, wrapping it around my hand and smashing the window. (I do realise this wouldn’t have been an easy feat, but in that moment, the lioness within me would have given it a bloody good go!)
The ‘pop’ of the lock was the most wonderful sound. I yanked open the door, my #0938er threw himself into my arms and I took a deep breath (Not realising I’d been holding it).
He continued to sob through all my thanks to the mechanics, his little body quavering with every intake. I turned to the showroom window to give a wave to the sales team that had gathered there – their relieved smiles matching my own. All the while my little dude was in full on ‘Limpet Lock’ mode – his hands tight around my neck and that’s where they we staying. Such ‘hugs’ are normally reserved for when it’s time for bed, to go in the pushchair – basically do anything he’s really not that keen on – but this one was all about being reunited.
My wonderful dad (who’d only planned on nipping me down before carrying on at work…sorry dad) had been by side throughout, joining me in my attempts to reassure, encourage button pressing and handle opening (you know, all the stuff you normally discourage – no wonder there was so many tears, the confusion!). And now that it was all over he wasn’t even allowed a hug. A firm favourite with my youngest, even ‘Ga-Ga’ wasn’t going to get in on the limpet lock action.
Putting him into his car seat I worried that he wouldn’t like the door being shut, or being inside without me. I worried this experience would leave a lasting impression. My little car captive scarred for life, put off all types of vehicles….ok I’d obviously been affected more than I realised as this thought process was a TAD dramatic.
As I looked in my rear view mirror he smiled at me “Mummy” he said “Raining! Puddles!” Thank goodness for that Peppa Pig.