Let’s get straight to the point: I locked my 2-year-old daughter in her room. From the outside. Without a key.
This was purely an accident. At 3 a.m., we were on the fourth night of our sleep training journey, trying to coax our little one to rest in her own space. After several nights of interrupted sleep, my brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, making even the shortest distance feel insurmountable.
When I was jolted awake by her cries, I felt like I was trudging through a fog, barely functioning. There she was, my sweet girl—well-fed, bathed, and content—yet she was still howling. The cozy room we had lovingly prepared, complete with her favorite stuffed animals and a bed made just for her, seemed to only amplify her distress.
In my dazed state, I made my way to her side, offering the little comfort I could muster. I gently patted her back and murmured soothing words, struggling to stay awake as her cries slowly subsided. “Okay, Mommy needs some sleep now,” I slurred, moving toward the door.
As I grasped the handle, a sudden thought struck me: what if she climbed out of bed and came to my room for the fifth time? Without fully thinking it through, I locked the door behind me and quietly turned the knob.
The moment I heard the click, panic washed over me. I had locked my child inside her room. I immediately erupted into tears, waking my husband, who was understandably confused as I tried to explain the absurdity of the situation.
“Why did you lock the door?” he asked, bewildered.
“Because I’m a horrible mother!” I wailed, collapsing onto the floor in a dramatic heap of emotion. We had just moved in, and I had no idea if there was a key to the bedroom doors. We scrambled to find one, even checking above the 7-foot door frames in our frantic search, all while my tears blurred my vision.
Meanwhile, my daughter had woken up. At first, she seemed calm, but as she sensed my desperation, her little face transformed. “Mommy, I can’t,” she cried. “Open the door.” My sobs were the only response, and soon we were both crying on opposite sides of the door, feeling utterly alone.
I kept telling myself I was the worst mom ever, fully aware of my irrationality but finding some strange comfort in my self-pity. I had set out to help her sleep in her own room and had inadvertently locked her in. What kind of trauma would this cause? Would she need therapy as an adult to deal with the fallout?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my dad arrived with tools in hand. After many failed attempts to pick the lock and a lot of brainstorming (including whether to knock the door down), my husband finally managed to force the handle down and—pop—it opened!
There she was, still sleeping soundly in her beautifully decorated room, surrounded by her beloved stuffed animals and blissfully unaware of the chaos. I was relieved to see that she had even gone to the bathroom all by herself during the ordeal.
We exchanged relieved glances, probably muttering something like, “We survived the night.” As I settled back into bed, I thought to myself, “One day, this will make a great story—just not today.”
And perhaps today is that day. While it’s certainly not my proudest parenting moment, it was undeniably real. It was me, the exhausted, flawed, and human version of myself. The next morning, I apologized to my daughter, who simply smiled at me in a way that suggested she had no idea what I was talking about. I realized then that it had been a much bigger deal for me than for her. That night, she slept soundly in her own room once again.
If you’re navigating parenting challenges or considering home insemination, be sure to check out this insightful article on pregnancy and explore resources like Cryobaby’s Insemination Kit and our disclosure at Intracervical Insemination for more information.
Summary
In a sleep-deprived state, Jessica accidentally locked her 2-year-old daughter in her bedroom while attempting to sleep train her. After a frantic search for the key and an emotional reunion, the night ended with the little girl blissfully unaware of the chaos, leaving Jessica to reflect on the relatable and imperfect nature of parenting.