Years ago I saw a frazzled parent following their child through a crowded amusement park, holding onto that child's leash. You know, the kind attached to a harness that wraps around the little one's torso and makes it look like you've highjacked a terrier's doggie leash for the day.
I thought that putting your child on a leash was at best, hilarious, and at worst, abusive.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Last night, I took Monkey outside our apartment building for one last gasp of fun - drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. It was hot outside, but hotter in the apartment, so out we went to get chalky and dusty and giggle a bit before bathtime and bed.
And, becase I'm now at 19 weeks, I'm a little thick (ahem! ok, friggin' big already) and therefore slow to get off the ground.
Monkey was standing next to me as I drew on the ground. And as a family walked past, she decided it would be a fine time to take off running. While laughing. As I struggled to catch up (she's FAST) and hollered STOP at the top of my lungs.
See, she was running towards a street that should be quiet - but cars whiz down it, and they are coming around a curve and likely wouldn't see a small toddler darting out in the twilight.
I thought I was going to watch my daughter get hit by a car, that she could die in front of me, if I didn't catch her in time.
My heart was pounding from the anxiety when I caught up with her, and let me tell you, we went straight upstairs for a 5 minute timeout. Longest one she's had in her life.
She's fearless and testing her boundaries. I'm fearful and thinking about making her wear a wrist tether when we're walking outside.
Seems I just got a refresher course on judging others.
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