Don't Wake The Kids

And Other Rules for Motherhood

I’m That Parent. Please Don’t Judge Me.

on August 13, 2009

I was in my favorite shopping place to get Jumpshot some shorts for school. Accompanying me on my excursion was Diva and Manchild. You could have recognize me as the lady looking around as I’m walking – not at the merchandise but to constantly make sure my ducks were in a row. (I must have prayed too many times for patience because my children are dawdlers, which is in direct conflict of my Type A personality. I thank God everyday for them.)

For some reason, we wandered into the baby section. I think Manchild was lured by the sippy cups. He hoards them under the bed like a squirrel getting ready for winter. They get moldy, and I toss them, necessitating constant purchases of replacements.

As I seem to know a gaggle of pregnant women currently, I took a moment to peruse the aisle to learn what’s new in the baby must-haves. I just happened to be in the aisle with the slings, carriers, diaper bags, and potties. However, my eyes settled on a particular product, which caused much internal deliberation. Should I get it for myself? It would mean admitting I was a mom that needed – gasp – help. That some part of me had failed and was weak. James would probably tease me if I bought it. But it’ll give you peace of mind, I convinced myself. Isn’t that more important? There’s much more at stake here than your pride.

Twice our fun-intentioned family outings have been soured by panic-stricken moments, and here was a tranquilizer.

The first happened at an LSU women’s basketball game. We were there to watch Diva perform at the half-time show. I was so concerned about her stage fright and reluctance to perform, it did not occur to me that there was a potential for disaster concerning the other children.

Manchild is exactly that – a miniature version of James. He has exceptional coordination and can do things many kids his age cannot. Being two, he’s also impulsive. Quite a combination, right? That being said, when it was time to leave, he decided to take off on his own. He got to the top of our section, then he disappeared behind a sea of legs right before my eyes. It took us what felt like a year to recover him from the arms of a security guard, who found him wandering the concourse. Our whole family was distressed, except Manchild who had himself the best adventure.

The second happened only a couple weeks ago. The kids and I joined my youngest brother and his son, who is the same age as Manchild, at the mall. After our lunch at the food court, everyone needed to freshen up. The boys headed to the escalator as I cleared our tables. Diva hung back with me as usual. I took inventory of the situation before I dumped our trash, and the boys were at the escalator. By the time I arrived at the escalator, the boys had already descended. As Diva and I were riding down, I did a quick headcount of my family waiting below. Guess who’s missing!

Everyone’s eyes dart in every direction. Where do I even begin to search? I besought my family, Did he come downstairs with you? No, he hadn’t. Darted back up the moving staircase. Heart racing. My pulse in my ears. I was praying for his safety. Praise God, found him safe! Manchild had returned to the tables for some unknown reason. Our paths must have crossed. It was less than a minute, but it was a whale of a minute.

Back at the store is the thing that will prevent these heart-wrenching moments. Here is a safety net of sorts. It’s also something I swore as a naive childless person I’d never buy. $12. A small price to pay for peace of mind. I’m still learning to be humble, to accept my limitations. Therefore, I’ll have my Manchild tethered to my wrist and enjoy having him by my side. I never thought I’d own a tether, but there you have it. I’m one of those parents. I’ve accepted it.

Thanks for reading!
Sally

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