As I was lumbering after him and shouting for him to stop, he looked back, laughing, and kept right on truckin'. I'm sure the people enjoying their après-work drink on the porch enjoyed the show. They must have, because they made no offer to help as they saw H making his exodus across the lot.
After I caught him and did the white trash dance across the parking lot (child's arm in your claw as you walk faster than is really possible for them to keep up) I was calmly explaining (read: yelling) that this was why he had to be in his stroller and/or a grocery cart when we were out because I couldn't trust him to listen to me. Yes, I understand this was not going to make much of an impact, but until he can understand what 'get run over by a car' means, it would have to do.
I felt a mixture of anger, fright, and a new burning pain in my pelvis. Awesome, if I go into labor a month early because of this, I'm not going to be happy.
I sat H down at the table with his dinner and paged J at work, just needing to talk about what had happened, but not wishing to discuss it further with my two year-old. J was not immediately available, which was probably better, because I didn't talk about the situation in front of H any further that night. I took some deep breaths, followed by some Tylenol, and we went about our night-time routine.
After talking to J about it when he got home, it was agreed that I'd start using the "pack-pack" trying not to worry about the looks of disgust I would receive from other parents, as it is a safety issue for H.
I have to say, after a trip to the zoo today on which the back-pack was utilized, H and I had a great time. He was able to see all the animals and exhibits that he would not have been able to see from the stroller, while still feeling like he could roam around a little. At the same time I felt exponentially more relaxed, comfortable in the knowledge that he was being kept on a very short leash.
No comments:
Post a Comment