The longest three minutes of my life

My husband swears it was three minutes, five minutes MAX but I'm here to tell you Bean's entire life flashed before my eyes this weekend. Her. Entire. Life. In three minutes.

I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but I'm just stupid enough to share my experience. Do I want you to learn from it? Sure. Did I really learn from it? Eh. I don't know there was much to learn. It was just some freak thing that happened and I swear to you, it took me HOURS to calm down. Hours. 

I'm not going to do a whole lot of updating right now; there's time for that later. I feel like you all need to know a few things, though, before proceeding. First (and foremost to many of you), Jaleigh has been out of the hospital for just over a year! Awesome, right?! She's been doing very well, up until about a month ago. We're working through it all, though and she's going to be just fine. You should also know we moved to Savannah. Yes, it's beautiful. Yes, by the ocean and yes, I've seen the Spanish Moss. Oh. My. Gosh. Beautiful! Anyway...

Jesse's grandma came to visit us for a couple weeks and the time came to take her back to her sister's house in St. Augustine. We figured since we'd never "gotten away" as a family (and that our air conditioner had gone out the night before...) we would get a hotel room in Jacksonville and stay the weekend.

I reserved a room at the Embassy Suites in Jacksonville and we were beside ourselves, we were so giddy. A family vacation. With three kids under six. In one hotel room. What in the world could possibly go wrong?

I know you feel like this has been the longest three minutes of YOUR life, but bear with me. Every story has a back story.

We walked into the Embassy Suites and it was exquisite. It had a ginormous atrium with water falls (or "WA" as bug calls it) and plants. We checked in and made the trek up to the seventh floor with everyone in tow, to our home for the weekend. Oh, I didn't like those balcony rails. Something about them made me sick to my stomach. The slats were plenty wide enough that with very little effort, one of my girls could fall straight through. Seven stories up. Ugh.

We stayed our first night and got up to shower everyone. We were determined to make it a good day, despite the sleepless night (hi, uncooperative toddlers!). I took Jaleigh (serious lung problems, people) into the bathroom to shower with me and looked up to see a huge black moldy spot with an open hole and water pouring out. Um, gross. I promptly got out of the shower and called the front office who immediately brought us a key to a different room. We hauled all our stuff and three kids down to the second floor. Phew. Those balcony rails were DEFINITELY better. Not near the view, but safer. My tummy was safe. We got everyone into the new room, got dressed and ready to go down to breakfast. I couldn't find my phone anywhere, so I assumed I left it in the room on the seventh floor. I told Jesse I'd be right back and walked out the door. I vaguely recall hearing Jaleigh say something about coming with me, but I closed the door anyway. This is where the five minutes technically start.

I got in the elevator and had this awful, horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach again. I almost felt claustrophobic in the empty, open elevator. I had to get out of there, and fast. I made it to the seventh floor, went in to look for my phone and couldn't find it anywhere. I decided I must have thrown it in a bag somewhere while we were juggling all the other stuff. I went back to the elevators and the same stupid elevator was there, waiting on me. There was that sick feeling again. I felt like the cable was just going to break and I was going to crash and die, leaving my husband alone to raise three banshees. Yes, I'm over-dramatic. I own it.

I rounded the corner to our new room and my husband met me in the hallway. I heard two words I never in my life want to hear again, ever. No matter what.

"Where's Jaleigh?"

What do you mean where's Jaleigh? She's in the room with you, you idiot. Check the bathroom. Look in the closet. She's a jerk like that.

When I saw the look on Bub's face, I knew they'd already checked and something wasn't right. I looked up and down the hallway; four elevators, four exit signs in four different corners of the building. Two sets of stairs. Hundreds of rooms. I'm telling you, this kid was NOWHERE. Where in the HELL was my baby?? Jesse went in and called the front desk, where they promptly dropped everything and started looking for her. I mumbled something to the maids on our floor as I walked past them, wondering where to start.

My baby. My baby has been through so much. I can't find my baby. Where is my baby? Oh, God. No. Give me my baby. By this time, our son was crying. Bug was screaming; apparently the whole situation just made her uncomfortable. Jesse was back in the room, tearing it to shreds. I was wondering aimlessly through our floor, in a daze, praying for direction. I looked out into the atrium. All these happy families. With their babies. I want my baby. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "Find my baby jerks!"

But I had no words. No words would come out. I couldn't even muster up words to tell the maids I needed help, or to call her name. I  was still wandering. Do I go up? Do I go down? Which elevator? Oh, my baby. Where are my words. God, help me. Did she fall? Oh, shit. If she gets up to that seventh floor, she'll fall off the balcony. Sorry for saying shit, God. Where's my baby? I rounded the final corner on our floor and she came walking out of an open room. Oh, God. Who are these people and what did they do to my child?! I can't breathe. As she walked out in tears, she saw me and came running to me.

"Mommy!" My baby.

"I wost you." My baby. Oh, the tears. My voice. I found my voice. I sound like a mad woman, but I found my voice. Oh, sweet baby. You're safe. You're okay. I'm going to kill you, child. Don't you EVER leave that room without mommy or daddy. Ever.

Apparently she was wondering the halls (this was a big hallway, folks. She was LITERALLY on the other side of the building) and this couple saw her and brought her into their room while the wife got dressed so they could take her to the front desk. I remember them saying something about having five kids and knowing kids are sneaky. I also remember them saying something about keeping an eye on her. I think I remember thanking them, incessantly. I'm pretty sure I cried. A lot.

Oh, Jesse. I had to go tell my poor, guilt-ridden husband she was okay. I found her. She was safe. She wouldn't let me put her down, not that I would have, and she kept cupping my face with her hands. She kept saying, "You not cry, mommy. I sowwy," over and over again. I kept telling her she can't leave me. Ever. Jesse called the front desk and let them know we had her. I went back to thank the couple again, but they were gone. Angels among us, folks.

Now, to answer the questions I KNOW you have at this point. I don't want to hear them in your efforts to make me feel like an inferior parent.

1. Why didn't you take her with you?
I was trying to hurry. Everyone was hungry, we were nearly late for breakfast. Bean has a habit of looking at every single speck on the floor and admiring it, then telling me what potential it has to be all sorts of things. I also didn't want her back in that room with mold, even for a second.

2. Where was daddy?
 I don't blame daddy. Even if the worst had happened, I wouldn't blame daddy. I blame me. I should have taken her with me. Daddy heard a door close and assumed she locked herself in the bathroom (she's famous for that, people), then went straight to the bathroom to retrieve her. Then he checked the other room. Then he checked the closets. Then he freaked out. Daddy was putting drinks in the fridge, looked up and she was gone.

3. What about the safety latch?
The safety latch in our first room wouldn't latch. The door locked, but anyone who has ever stayed in a hotel knows how that works. Pull the handle and the door unlocks. This door would latch and you can bet it was latched for the remainder of the trip, but this time it wasn't. I have no excuses. I guess we just assumed since everyone was right there and I would just be gone for a minute, that it would be fine. It was fine. I just went through three minutes of hell to get to fine. Three minutes of imagining the very worst.

I cried for at least an hour. I'd be willing to bet two, maybe even three. Jaleigh didn't leave my hip that day and she apologized all day long. I think it scared her as much as it did me. I relished in it, though, because the outcome could've been so much worse, but God was watching over our Sweet Bean. Just more confirmation He has BIG plans for our baby girl. Big plans.

What's the moral of the story, you ask? Meh, I don't really have one. Watch your kids? No, that's not it. It's virtually impossible to watch your children 24/7 without stopping. It just is. Use your words? Eh, yeah. If you lose your kids, at least make an effort to call them. Don't be a mute idiot, roaming around incessantly like I was. I tell my kids 500 times a day to use their words. Use your words.

Other than that, nope. No other advice or morals. Just thought I'd share with you the longest three minutes of my life.