This morning was an interesting one in our household. It started off ordinarily enough: I woke Emily up in the morning (after she slept 12 hours!), gave her some breakfast and then set her down in the living room to play with some toys while I went to the bathroom. I made sure to close the door tightly and latch it because Emily has taken to pushing that door open when one of her parents is trying to have two minutes peace. Sure enough, I soon heard her pawing at the door and when I went to open it and rescue her, I could not. No matter how hard I tried or how many times I wiggled the door knob, I could not get the door to open. I was stuck in the bathroom and my daughter was quickly losing her cool on the other side of the door.
I considered the facts: it had to be approaching 8 o'clock and Eric should be coming home soon, so I kept fiddling with the door knob when suddenly I panicked. Had I closed the door to the basement steps? Was Emily's 15 seconds of silence because she had fallen? Swallowed something she shouldn't have? Learned to walk, open doors, and was now running out in the middle of a street as a speeding truck approached? I knew I couldn't wait any longer. What if Eric went out to breakfast with his night shift cronies as he has mentioned to me that he might do one of these times? So, I searched the bathroom for a blunt object, settled on a plunger and began beating through the door. My plan was to make a small hole, reach my hand through and try to open the door from the other side. I made the hole all right, but it still wouldn't budge, so I kept going. Soon enough (after a LOT of pounding and wood chips flying) I had created a hole I could fit through (with some considerable squeezing). I rescued my sobbing baby, surveyed the damage, and not two minutes after I was freed Eric walked through the door to quite a scene!