911: What's your emergency?

It's highly ironic that last night I was on the internet researching the "mommy brain." You moms know what I'm talking about. You ask yourself, "where the heck is my phone? I can't find my phone!" when you realize you're talking on it. You put the juice in the pantry and the crackers in the refrigerator. I've done it.

I thought it would be amusing to find out what causes this "mommy brain" and then blog about it. In my research, I learned of a pulitzer prize winning reporter named Katherine Ellison. She wrote a book called the "The Mommy Brain: How Motherhood Makes us Smarter". HEH?? Is that possible? Evidenced by my last year of life with Jacob, I have NOT accumulated brain power. I have much to debate with this woman, but was encouraged by the thought that there was possibly something physiological going on that would help me snap out of my crazy "mommy brain" soon.

Well, my friends, the powers that be had other plans. The following story is going to exemplify the very definition of "mommy brain" and I will humiliate myself in describing to you how it turned my morning upside down.

I warn you, this is going to be a long post, so grab a cup of joe and get comfortable.

Jacob and I are having breakfast at about 7:15 am. We need to get out the door soon so that I can get to an appointment at 8:00 am with my new bootcamp instructor. He's in the highchair eating while I am cleaning up. Proactively, I decide to take out the trash so that I'm not carrying him, the diaper bag, AND the trash as we head down to the car. The trash shoot is right down the hall so I open the door, step outside with the trash and the door shuts behind me. Literally, in an instant, I have a flashback...

I'm going to bed the night before (after doing research on "mommy brain") and decide that it's a good idea to lock the bottom lock on the door (in addition to the top lock) since Mark is out of town. I never do this, but we've had some strange things happen in our building lately and I think it's best if I take the extra precaution. I turn the bottom lock and go to bed.

...as this flashback hits me, my heart starts pounding and I immediately shout "OH MY GOD." I turn around as fast as I can, try to open the door and it's locked!!!! With my baby inside!! I have nothing on me. No cell phone, no car keys, nothing but the stupid trash. Jacob starts crying immediately as if he knows exactly what has happened. Panic sets in. My first instinct is to throw myself against the door to try to get inside. Nope. Not happening. My second thought is to run downstairs to the apartment office to see if they have a master key. Unfortunately, it's 7:15 am and they don't open until 10:00 am (TEN!) So, I start running down the hall knocking on anyones door that can help me get to a phone (who am I going to call? I have NO idea.) Finally, a groggy neighbor opens the door in her pajamas and I explain what's going on. "No problem!" she says. "We'll call the apartment security patrol." "Do they have a master key?" I ask. "I have no idea but I bet they'll know who to call."

I want to pause for a moment and tell you about how horrible cell phone service is in this apartment building. The walls must be made of steel because I drop calls every minute in this ridiculous place. Also, I have a message for all of you people out there with fancy blackberries and iPhones and Sidekicks...please don't hand me your phone to use in an emergency. I don't know how to work it unless it has the numbers 0-9 on it. If you give it to me, I am likely to turn it off, email your boyfriend, or send a fax. Please, please, please do not ask me to figure this stupid thing out when I am listening to my baby scream next door and I can't get to him.

Ok, so, about 10 minutes have passed since we've been dealing with my incapable dialing skills, dropped calls, and finally, no answer from the apartment security patrol (great, I feel safe now.) While she's trying to get a hold of someone, I run across the hall to another apartment to see if they might have an emergency number of anyone in the building that has a master key. A very sweet lady with 5 kids hands me her cell phone (another blackberry!) and tells me I should call the police. The girl across the hall peeks her head out and says "I can't get a hold of anyone, you want me to call the fire department?" "YES" I say. "I want them to break down the door."

She proceeds to dial 911 and they assure her that help is on the way. In the meantime, the neighbors and I congregate at my door (as I make a few more feeble attempts at breaking it down) and I try talking to Jacob through the door as he continues to scream. "It's ok baby. Mommy's here. She's trying to get inside!" As we wait (as patiently as possible) I am imagining what this scene is going to look like a few minutes from now. I'm picturing a squad of firemen storming down the hall with axes to break down my door. In addition, I'm certain that the cost of replacing the apartment door is not minimal, and I wince at the thought of them taking their axes to it. As if the things going on in my head weren't horrible enough, my lady neighbor says "I hope he hasn't flipped the high chair over!" Oh sweet Jesus. I hadn't even thought about him doing something like that, but now that she's put the idea in my head, I can't stop thinking about him on the ground with the high chair on top of him. I swear another 10-15 minutes pass. We make another call to confirm that people are coming and they confidently say that the fire department has been called and is en route. One neighbor decides to go downstairs to wait for them in case they need to be let into the building.

All of sudden, a very nice policewoman shows up and asks me what has happened. I explain to her (without trying to sound so pathetic to convince her that I am NOT a bad mother and that she should not contact child protective services, if that was at all on her mind.) Very sweetly she tells me that this kind of thing happens all the time. (But not to me!) A few more minutes pass and here comes my neighbor with 3 firemen to the rescue. I have to tell you that at this point, 30 minutes have passed and Jacob has been screaming the whole time. I am beside myself and want to start crying as well, but know that I can't until I get him in my arms. The firemen start asking me a series of questions..."is there a window open?", "can we get in through the patio?" to all of which I answer "no" (I've already thought of these options!) So, they pull out some simple looking tools, stick them in the door, and VOILA, it opens!!!

I run in, thank God that Jacob is still safely in his chair and I swoop up my baby.

I have to tell you friends that all's well that ends well. I hesitated writing about this, but I want all my mom friends to know that you are not alone with your "mommy brain." It exists and I am proof. In my lifetime, I do not remember one moment where I have locked myself out of a car, house, apartment, whatever. Until now. I blame it on the mommy brain. It is alive and well.