Time to buy a leash…for my child

A few months ago, I got pretty high and mighty about other people calling my son a dog ^[1]. I was a little offended that another woman had the audacity to compare my child to her puppy. And now, I am heading out to buy him a child harness. Also known as a leash. Yes, dear reader, I’m buying my child a leash. Karma can be a real bitch, no?.

If you knew me, you’d know that I am not a Tiger Mom ^[4]. For example, I employ the television as a babysitter. I serve ice cream for dinner. And I don’t really sweat the bumps on the head, the scrapes on the knee, or the occasional trip to the Emergency Room for stitches. I’ll admit that, on a few occasions, I forgot to buckle my son into his car seat. We survived.

But now, I’m searching the internet for the most expensive, top-rated child safety harness as a result of an incident I am now referring to as our “Dance with Death”. It happened like this. As we were walking from our car into the house, the little man decided to take off running down the street. Usually he stops a few houses away, turns around, and runs back. Only this time he didn’t stop; he just kept running. He ran all the way down the block. Then he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Allow me to interrupt this story to provide you with the setting. I don’t live on a suburban cul-de-sac. I live smack dab in the middle of the city. We’re talking stoplights, trash trucks, emergency vehicles, noise, utility trucks, busy intersections, and lots and lots of speeding cars. It sounds like hell on Earth, but actually, it is a nice neighborhood.

Back to the story. I have to say, in those few moments, I really thought he would turn around and run back to me. He’s a smart kid, I thought. He’s young, but he knows to hold my hand and he certainly knows not to run away. Well, I was wrong. He may be smart, but nothing stops an inmate from participating in a prison break, I guess.

When I finally realized that he wasn’t coming back, I took off running. This is when I realized that two-year-olds can run faster than women in their mid-thirties. So here we are: a slightly overweight and somewhat frazzled mom running down the street, with a way- too-large handbag flapping in the wind, screaming at her son to stop. I was scared, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that one day he could be a great track star. Olympic hopeful for 2032?

The moment I turned the corner, however, I got really frightened because I did not see him. The cars, the streets,  the trucks — it all was a blur. Finally, I spotted him. He stopped running, in the middle of a busy street, of course, and I caught up.

The interesting thing about all of this is that, while running, I passed at least three people standing there, watching this sprint. In fact, one of them said to me “I was going to start running after him”. He was going to. But he didn’t, he just stood there and watched. Nothing says good neighbor like a person who is “going to” help but instead, stands by scratching his ass during a minor emergency. Was it Fred Rogers who said he always wanted to live in the neighborhood with you?

In any case, one could argue that this is completely normal behavior for a preschooler, a way for him to assert his independence and his desire to separate from me. But the fact of the matter is, he could have been snatched up by a lunatic in a dirty, white van. He could have been attacked by one of the two pit bulls who roam the neighborhood daily on “walks” with their owner. (This is a good place to raise children, really! Won’t you be my neighbor?) Or he could have been hit by a car. I picture a number of horrific endings to our dance with death, similar to Black Swan. I’m trying not to think about how it could have turned out.

So, here we are. I ranted and raved about comparing my child to a dog, and now I’m buying a leash. It figures. If you see me around, try not to say “I told you so”, or laugh, or tell me what a bad mother I am, or mutter under your breath about helicopter parents.

See you at Pet Smart ^[7]!