Hot Mama

Here’s a confession that will alienate me from the rest of the civilized world—I hate hot, sunny weather. Everything about it is miserable to me--the sweat that trickles down my back after literally standing outside only a moment, the nasty feeling and smell of sunscreen coated on my skin, having to keep the windows shut to keep the house cool, the misery of cooking over a stovetop because we can’t grill or have salads every day, and the fact that everything I love to do outside—long walks, taking the dog/baby out, shopping—all becomes a monumental chore when the mercury climbs. Unfortunately, I live in an area that can get very cold and very hot, so there is no escaping the extremes. We deal the best we can within our budget, and my husband patiently puts up with my griping every year when June, July, August, September hits. 

With this said, I am more than a little cranky this time of year. I rush to get inside to the welcoming AC, and grumble when I feel gross from walking to the car to my destination and back carrying Baby in her carseat/carrier. I’m conscious of what Baby must be feeling in this weather, and dress (or not dress) her accordingly, but mostly, it has always been about me.

Until day. I got a wakeup call that literally had me in tears.

It’s pushing 90 degrees on the thermostat with high humidity, but since that’s every day at the moment, I can’t always maintain my hermit status indoors. My mom doesn’t live far away and thought it would be a nice treat for the girls to have a shopping outing. We had a nice time (loving the store’s AC every minute), and finally decided it was time to get lunch, about a 15 drive away. 

I had been holding my daughter in the store and now, back at the car, tossed my keys in the car and proceeded to strap her back into her carseat as quickly as I could. It was hot outside. Even hotter in the car. I felt the sticky heat radiating across my skin. Once Baby was situated and buckled in, I slammed the door and marched over to the driver side to get in and blast the cool air on the both of us. 

Except the door was locked, and my keys were lying on the seat where I had foolishly thrown them.

I wish I could fully describe the horror that went through me at that moment. It was well over 110 degrees in that car, maybe more. Baby was strapped into a hot carseat. And she was trapped inside, while her selfish, preoccupied mother stood helplessly outside. I had no spare keys, and cops (in this area at least), do not respond to keys locked in car situations anyway for liability reasons. To top it off, the clock was ticking. My precious little girl was in there. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting. 

I was lucky. My husband was a 15 minute drive away, and while he was furious at being woken up (he works nights), and even more furious at me and the situation, he had a spare set of keys. He was coming to us within 30 seconds into my panicked phone call, and yet it was the longest wait of my life. I pounded on the window, called Baby’s name to make sure she was responding to me. Baby kept closing her eyes. Her breathing was more labored than normal.  I hated myself.

Meanwhile, my mom had turned on her car with the AC blasting. She had a bottle of water in there too. When my husband arrived a few minutes later and Baby was freed from her hot prison, I ripped her clothes off and sat in my mom’s cool car, bathing Baby’s skin with the water. She was flushed and sweaty, but otherwise she seemed like herself.

This situation could have turned out horribly. There are so many reports in the news of children dying in hot cars. My daughter would never have been among them—I would have smashed in the windows before that happened, but this proved an ominous warning.

Slow down. Deal with it. Think before doing. These phrases circulated my mind and I drove back home, Baby safe and sound. This was never the wakeup call I wanted, but it was the one I needed. Lesson learned.