Mulligan?

Do you ever have one of those days where you just need a do over? I did today. I wasn't even halfway through my morning when I just wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, "Can I please have a mulligan?!" Anyone?

They say that pregnant women are forgetful or scatterbrained. They call it "pregnancy brain". I remember reading about this way back when I first cracked my pregnancy books, and there really is some medical reason for this, but of course, I have forgotten the details. In any case, today I proved this theory correct.

Like all of you, there are a number of things I have to remember as I am walking out of the house in the morning. The last thing I do before I leave for the train is take out Norah (our dog). Before I do that, I go through this ritual of sorts, gathering the things to take to work and remember for the day. I set up the dog gate, I bring Norah's bed out of our room, I close the bedroom doors (to keep Norah from sleeping on our bed all day), I make sure I have shoes to change into once I get in the office and take off my boots, I grab my lunch, pack my book to read on the train, make sure I have my cell phone. Today I needed to also remember materials to take back to work from a conference I attended at the end of last week.... you get the picture. After I have all of these items assembled, I take out Norah and then after our little walk I leave. Today I remember ALL of the above items. I grabbed Norah and a bag to pick up after her when she goes to the bathroom, and headed out. Do you see where this is going? Yes, I remembered EVERYTHING. Everything that is, except, my keys.

I realized I forgot my keys about one millisecond after the door shut on us. I frantically patted my pockets thinking maybe this would make them magically travel there from the counter where I could picture them sitting. We have exchanged keys with two neighbors just in case this situation might occur, but of course, they were both gone. Norah still has to go to the bathroom, so I took her out and while she was doing her business I thought up a plan.

Jason and my cell phone numbers are programed via code number into the call box outside our building. That way we can let an expected visitor (or the UPS man) into our building remotely. Of course my cell phone was upstairs locked away with my keys and my purse and everything else that I was desperate for at the moment. But I knew for sure that Jason not only had his cell phone with him, but would answer it, because we are officially on "baby can come any day" watch. So, I dialed his code from our call box, told him predicament, he buzzed me in out of the cold, and said he would call the neighbor that has our key. What a good man. In the meantime, I waited.

And waited.

In fact, I waited for FOUR (count them, 1,2,3,4) HOURS. In the hallway outside my condo door. On the floor. With the dog. 9 months pregnant.

I realize that in about 3 weeks the thought of having four hours by myself, with no choice but to do absolutely nothing at all, would be an absolute fantasy. Today however, it was quite the opposite.

For the first hour I just got incrementally more upset at myself and my stupid pregnancy brain. How could I leave without my keys? I had just had them in my hand. I could picture them just sitting there on the counter, laughing at me. To top things off, I was already running late, because I had gotten so sucked into the pre-inauguration coverage on the news. "You just had to watch Obama walk into the church, didn't you, Johanna" I was saying to myself. I had a million and six things to do at work after being out the last several days at the conference. This was really setting me back.

At hour two, I called Jason from the call box again, as if there were anything he could do about it; which, aside from cancelling all of his remaining appointments and taking the 45 minute train ride back home to open the door for me himself, there wasn't. Mind you, this call box is meant only to buzz people into the building. It's not meant as a tool for lengthy conversations with your husband about how frustrated you are with yourself. So mostly I was shouting above the trucks zooming by, "Jason? Can you hear me? I'm still locked out! What am I going to do!" And Jason saying things back to me, that through the reception of the call box sounded like, "on't orry. ing oo ind oo a olution." But basically the drift I got that was that he had spoken to the neighbor's husband, and that she was out running errands, and should be home soon. So, Norah and I headed back upstairs to sit on the floor and wait. At this point I was in the acceptance stage. However stupid it was, I had gotten myself into this mess, so now I just needed to wait it out. I tried to close my eyes and take a nap. But you can imagine how comfortable I was- big as a house, sitting on the floor, dog on my lap. That, coupled with the fact that the thermostat for the common areas of our building is on the first floor, where the doors are constantly opening to the 20 degree air outside, so the heat kicks on every 4 seconds, and consequently it is a balmy 80 degrees on the third floor right outside our unit.

At hour 2 1/2 I decided to do a little yoga. I was getting achy, and I figured it would be a good time passer, and a good way to calm my mind. It worked well for a while, however somewhere between Warrior II and Tree pose Norah must have decided I looked a little cooky, and went a little nuts. She started sniffing at the doors of our neighbors house as if to say to me, "Come on, mom. This is no time for yoga. Are you sure there isn't anyone in there who can help us?!"

I sat down to think again. Who else had a key to our place? Our cleaning person did! He also cleaned our neighbors place upstairs. Maybe by some stroke of luck he was there today. We headed up there. No such luck. We roamed around a little. I delivered a package from the lobby to another neighbor's doorstep. We waited in the lobby so we could watch the cars go by (for Norah) and cool off (for me). Then I thought maybe while we were delivering the packages and checking for the cleaning person on the 4th floor, that the neighbor with the key had come home. So we headed back to check. No such luck here either. So we sat back down outside our door to wait some more. In the heat. 9 months pregnant. On the floor.

3 hours in, after I had said a few prayers, I realized I was starving. It was now lunchtime. To make matters absolutely worse, I had to go to the bathroom. I started to panic. What was I going to do? What if my neighbor wasn't going to come home? Would I just wait her all day until Jason or the other neighbor came home at night? I couldn't possibly. Even if I could emotionally occupy my mind that long, I had to go to the bathroom. And I know well enough that there was no way I was going to be able to hold it for much longer. Have I mentioned that I'm 9 months pregnant? My panicked, heat soaked mind started to race to crazy places. What if.... I went into labor in the hallway? What if.... I couldn't get a hold of anyone for hours and I had to go to the bathroom in the alley like the bums. Okay, I would NOT do that. I decided I had to call Jason again, and ask him to come home. I told him I was so sorry, that I knew that this was 200% my fault, and none of his, but that I had no other choice. He agreed. Now I just had to wait for him to get there.

By hour 3 1/2, panic behind me, I had pretty much conquered mind over matter with the having to go to the bathroom issue. Instead, however, I started thinking about everything else I had to do. None of which, of course, I could do in the hallway. Every time the elevator would ding, Norah and I simultaneously would perk up, hoping rescue was around the corner.

At hour 4, finally, my neighbor with her two children in tow, rounded the corner. I told her that I was locked out, and she asked me for how long. When I told her, she immediately asked me if I had to go to the bathroom. She quickly got my key, I ran into my unit, dropped everything, used the rest room, and JUST as I was leaving my door to return the key-you guessed it- Jason got home.

This is not a joke. I wish it was. But hey, at least I'm keeping things interesting. Just one more story to tell the baby someday. And you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll never forget my keys again.