Good mothers do not leave sleeping children in the car

Yes, it was hot. The first nice summer day. Sunday afternoon, ice mood. And yes, our car is black. Still, I parked in the shade; the windows open a crack, just enough to let in the car - and no one else. I had waited an extra minute to be sure that the clack of the central locking had not disturbed my two sons' sleep, one and a half and three years old. Everything is peaceful.

Only then I am up in the apartment, just pick something. The stroller, diapers, money for ice cream, the newspaper. There is a phone call in between; very short; then one more. Where's the wallet, damn it? On the answering machine, the parents-in-law announce themselves for dinner; So quickly set a pizza dough - and suddenly there are 20 minutes away. No problem. First, they sleep for at least an hour, always; second, they are done in the morning from the zoo in such a way that it can easily become two today.



I push the empty sibling car out the front door, past the policewoman who knocks on the doorbell. What does she want there? No matter. Behind me, I hear the policewoman talking in her radio: "What was the name? Now spell it!" I go on. And slowly, slowly, seeps through, what that could mean. Police? Spell? In our apartment house? The legs understand it faster than the head. They are already running, as I wonder who the policewoman is looking for: this irresponsible woman, who puts her neglected children in this microwave oven of the car - and makes herself a nice afternoon. The world's worst mother. ME! I run, still a curve - I freeze: The car is wide open wide, in it two tentative desperate children, glued to the petting zoo and a declining cold. Before that: a policeman. He blocks my way. "Are you the mother?" I nod. "Your ID card!" (Is there a bad mother card?)

I am shocked. Speechless. Incredibly unsonvenient and unfair. I yell at the passer-by who called the police, "Do you have any children?" (What does the stupid cow think?) She shakes her head. "They were screaming," she says. And then she put gummy bears through the window slot. (Soothe children with sweets, ha!) "But they did not stop, and the gummy bears always fell off."

The police are discussing whether they have to report me to the youth welfare office. She is for it. I hold my breath. In my head, employees of the Youth Office climb over dirty laundry mountains, pulling sour milk bottles under the cot. They will come, declare me incapacitated, take the children with me. First you crack the car, then ...

The policeman points to the empty stroller: "After all, she thought of the children." In the end, they leave it at a reminder - and I'm finally allowed to cry to the children.

Later this afternoon, all three of us sit with ice in the sun. "Police tütata is coming!" Says the big one and cries again. It may be true that it was right of the passerby to call the police. Because of me. Should my children at least pay for not getting my daily routine baked? No. Certainly not. Will my children suffer? Yes of course. Because something I will always do wrong. Point. And in between: laugh, listen, eat ice cream.

And let's be honest: children who sit in the locked car, nothing can happen - even if they howl for half an hour. In the swimming class already.



All right, drop me over! Tell us what you think in the Bfriends forum

One mother's warning after her 18-month-old died sleeping in a car seat (March 2024).



Car, police