I blame movies for my overactive imagination, and motherhood for making my thoughts often turn to worst case scenario. So thank you, Hollywood, for ruining my first night out on the town with my husband and two of our closest friends. First night, at least, since sometime in early 2009. But who’s counting, right?
This past weekend Dan and I were in DC, and our wonderful friends/hosts agreed that getting a babysitter to watch the kids would be the best idea ever. Actually, the second best idea. The best being, we would get a cab to take us out, so we wouldn’t have to worry about drinking and driving, or taking out the car seats to make more room. At promptly 7:45pm our sitter, a theatrical 15-year-old girl, arrived. At 7:50 we bolted out of the house, jumping in the cab, giggling like high schoolers ourselves.
We didn’t need drinks, we were already drunk on the anticipation of the evening. Our conversation immediately turned to how great it was that we were getting out of the house, and how cute the babysitter is.
And then it hit me. The cab driver just now found out some extremely important pieces of information. There was a 15-year-old watching two toddlers alone in a house with a dog locked in a crate in the basement, and that we weren’t sure if she had a cell phone, or at least, whose phone she had. I panicked. My insides melted. I only thought of him going back to the house, ringing the doorbell, and forcing his way into the house and stealing my child. Or hurting the sitter. Bahhhhh!!!!!!
“Haha, I’m so glad that the sitter’s parents are right next door, in case she needs anything,” I said, probably much louder than I needed to. My friend agreed, and then I tried to steer the conversation to anything else besides a babysitter home alone with no cell phone.
I only ended up drinking one drink, a Kelly cider, and it was a bit too sweet, even for my taste buds. I did have a great time, just like old times, and it was wonderful knowing that I *could* leave my little baby girl in the hands of a stranger, even if for just a few hours. It was a liberating feeling. But in the back of my mind all night was how stupid it was of us to talk so freely in the cab with such privileged information.
So even though my evening was slightly spoiled, thank you Hollywood, for teaching me a valuable parenting lesson. Never let the cab driver know there is a teenage girl alone in your house. Even though nothing happened, I don’t think I’ll take that chance again.