I've managed to get myself into a few unfortunate situations recently, so I thought I'd share and hope that I can trust you all not to go to social services.
I locked myself out of my house. With my children locked inside. I was putting a bin bag into the outside bin and the front door slammed shut behind me. The twins were at the dining table having their lunch (well, throwing it around) and suddenly I found myself outside, with no keys and no shoes. Of course I did what everyone does when they're locked out; I pushed pathetically on the door in the vain hope it would open. It didn't. So I had to go to my neighbour's house (who I'd never properly met before), explain the situation and ask to jump over her fence. In the end, she volunteered her husband who jumped over the fence into my garden, went through the patio doors (nodding at my startled children still sitting at the table) and opened the front door for me. Humiliating? Yes. Mortifying? Yes. Great.
In a separate and equally horrifying circumstance, I've also recently locked my children in the car. With the car keys. This all came about because I've developed a rather irritating habbit of opening the car and throwing the car key onto the passenger seat while I get the children into their carseats. I duly carried out this little ritual when I collected my children from the childminder, but must have pressed the lock button before throwing the key onto the front seat. So, when the twins were safely in their seats, I slammed all the doors shut, locking them and the keys inside. Panic stations! I had to borrow a phone (because mine was locked in the car), call my husband who was thankfully at home, and get him to drive to the childminder's with the spare key. The worst thing about this particular stunt was the look on his face when he arrived. I think wonder and dispair sum it up. Brilliant.
These unfortunate situations have made me think about the stuff I did to the twins when they were younger - including dropping curry on one baby when I was desperately trying to shovel some dinner down whilst feeding, getting another baby soaking wet (and not realising) when they were in a sling and I was trying to wash up, and slicing the top off my son's thumb the first time I tried to cut his nails (he screamed for about an hour).
Great comfort can be found by telling myself that they're not going to remember any of this, but as they approach 2 years old I know that my window is closing. I'd really better stop doing stupid stuff.