If you have a frisky child, use the dang leash, guilt free. No apologies!
The leash I used for my eldest was passed down from my mother. You see, when my brother was a frisky three-year-old, she had to navigate airports from St. Louis to Incirlik Turkey. We're talking JFK. We're talking Heathrow. We're talking Germany and Greece and and and...
We made it to our destination, with my brother. Quite a feat for a mother of three, traveling alone to the other side of the world.
Flash forward to 1994. My son was 2-1/2, my daughter about ready to pop out from my uterus. Heavily pregnant with an active son of his caliber in the seat meant constant bumps of his shoes and knees against a belly already pressing on my bladder. Now, you couldn't let Tiger's Eye loose. I already learned that one lazy spring morning when I opened the door and let the screen door bring in some of that lovely air. He knew he had me; I sat. About nine months pregnant, seated on a low couch, renders the best of us disabled. I sat, he watched, and he ran for the door. Before I knew it, he was out the door and on the way to see his grandma.
Yeah. I had on a nightie. He sure was faster than me, and he had a heck of a head start, given that I had to kind of roll off the couch onto my knees and push off the floor in order to stand.
I panicked and yelled when he got perilously close to the street. Thank goodness, he listened and stopped. I took him by the hand and led him back inside, in tears. He got away from me, plain and simple. The fear of him crossing that street and me having to watch...never again.
I told my mother, and she gave me the leash. Smart woman, that one. Five kids gives you wisdom, that's for certain sure.
Soon after, I made one of the last trips to the grocery store before my daughter came along. The C-section was scheduled and I needed to stock up before the big event. I fixed my son in his harness, and he absolutely loved it. He barked a couple of times and panted, and that was just across the parking lot.
The leash gave him wiggle room. It was either the leash or the seat, and, like I said, I don't particularly like bladder problems in the middle of Schnucks, you know. We perused the cereal, Tiger's Eye pointing out his favorites and me denying them for plain Cheerios and such.
Then, she came. A virtuous woman no doubt, young, in 3" heels, the consummate professional. And she lectured me, standing by the cereal with my happy son fixing the boxes in a nice row.
"That's cruel. How can you attach your child to a rope like a mutt?"
"You're right," I said. "Babe, come here." I lovingly extended my hand, which he took. He turned around, and I unleashed him.
What did he do? Just like I anticipated, he ran down the aisle without a care in the world.
"As you can see, I have trouble keeping up," I said, rubbing my belly. "You'll have to get him for me."
She ran down the aisle, her heels clicking against the tile. My baby did this beautiful U-turn around the frozen fish freezer thingy, and careened toward the meat while I leisurely strolled up the aisle. By the time she caught him and led him back, her posh hairdo came apart, and she blew back a free strand of hair with a puff.
She said nothing, absolutely nothing, as she placed his hand in mine. I clipped the leash back to the harness. I said nothing, absolutely nothing, but "Thanks."
I really can't remember using the leash after that, other than a trip to the zoo. When KitKat actually arrived, I had more wiggle room of my own, since Daddy or Grandma kept the baby or I shopped at night after work.
Bottom line? I know my child. I know his potential. I know that, when he runs, his legs extend in a beautiful, deer-like stride. I also knew this could happen in the parking lot.
Moms know their kids. If you think your kid doesn't need a leash, good for you! Mine did. I make no apologies for keeping him safe.
Use the leash, and keep them close. You snooze, you blink, you pick up a tomato...
Think. Just think, people. Thou shalt not judge, and I raise this child and know him better than you do.
See more at www.sapphiretigress.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment