I probably shouldn't be telling this story. In fact I don't even want to relive it. It is a tale of my weakest moment as a mother, and probably the scariest 3 seconds of my life. But I can't get it out of my head, so I thought maybe talking through it would help me to get it off my chest. Also I feel it will probably be a defining incident in my life as a parent, so perhaps it is worthy of recording. Warning: If you don't want to hear an upsetting story, then know that we are all fine and well and stop reading here.
Since my Mac laptop (containing my Photoshop program) died (which is a horror story all in its own), all I can offer are these kindergarten-level graphics made from stolen internet photos. Hopefully that will add some humor into this terrible story that is anything but funny.
So yesterday Avery and I said goodbye to Lizzy, and started off down the sidewalk. We strolled hand in hand as we made our way out to the car, just like any normal day.
We approached my car, which was parked behind a big black truck, and I helped Avery off of the curb. I opened the car door to toss her lunch bag on the seat, and just as I reached down to pick her up, she took off like a bullet and darted around the front of my car, beelining for the street in between the two parked cars.
Although I never took my eyes off of her, I could see in my peripheral vision that a car was rapidly approaching. Lizzy's house is located on a main thoroughfare, and it is not uncommon to see dozens of cars barreling down the road at excessive speeds during rush hour. Being 5:30 pm on a Thursday, this was no exception.
In my moment of sheer panic, I helplessly screamed "STOP! STOP! STOP!" at both Avery and at the approaching car. I had my left arm up to signal the driver to stop, and my right arm reaching out for Avery. In my wedge heels and work skirt, I felt like I was in a dream where I was trying to run but couldn't move forward. The driver never saw either of us. Zooming by at about 40 miles per hour, the giant sedan came within 2 feet of Avery's face, just as I grabbed her arm.
I pulled her into my arms and she giggled as we hurried back to the curb. I trembled in utter shock as I buckled her into her carseat and mindlessly reprimanded her while my brain started unfolding the magnitude of what had almost just happened.
My 3 second ordeal festered into hours and hours of reliving the nightmare in my mind. It's the kind of experience that infiltrates the subconcious and mutates the scenario into every possible outcome, like a reel of alternate movie endings that you wished you'd never seen.
What if she had been two steps ahead? What if the driver had left their house one second later? What if I had tripped while trying to reach her? What if I had to run to Lizzy's door and ask her to call 911? What would Lizzy say? What would I tell Josh? Why did I trust Avery to stand next to me? Why didn't I hold her when I walked to the car? How could she have gotten all the way into the street before I was able to grab her? Could I have moved faster? Taken bigger steps? Why did I put her lunch bag in the car before putting her in?
A good friend reminded me today that "every mother has a horror story." I suppose this is probably true. My mom lost track of me in a department store when I was two, and hysterically searched the entirety of Sears with the panicked employees before I was found playing under a clothesrack, pretending not to hear anyone frantically shouting my name. It's easy to think, "I'm responsible. I'm careful. I would never let that happen to my kid." But the truth is, toddlers are stubborn, crafty, and quick, and your world can be turned upside-down in a fraction of a second. I guess sometimes we need a wake-up call to remind us.
And now that I've gotten mine, I'd like to never think about this ever again.
