Running Man

Some day in the not-so-distant future, Ezra will be rolling his eyes as I recount how he terrorized me as a toddler by constantly running off. I’ll remind him of the day he escaped our friend’s fenced-in backyard during the few minutes I went in to chat with my friend while she nursed her new baby. Ella will surely join in the eye rolling when I say that all was well and the gate was firmly closed until the older kids decided to open it. Then they’ll think I’m exaggerating when I tell them I nearly cried as a nice man carried Ezra, who’d ran down the middle of the street far too quickly, and handed him to me.

Ezra doesn’t really run because he wants to antagonize me. I can see in his face that it’s about freedom, fun, getting to someplace new. If he could only understand how aggravating it is to have him rush off in the store as I try to teach him how to be a big boy or, worse, race toward the middle of the parking lot. I feel like a broken record telling both of my kids that they need to stop, hold hands, watch for cars and listen not because I want to control them, but because I want them to be safe.

Right now, they look at me with this enormous tummy and my chronic end of pregnancy pain and they think, “Come and stop me.” I swear I had Ella trained at this age to get out of the car, wait, hold my hand, and walk. Once Ezra came, I felt confident that she would listen and walk with me. And most of the time she did. Not my son. He wants to be just like his big sister and rush forward. He’s impetuous, unafraid of the world ahead.

On a good day, the “be a good example” talk works with Ella and she is an angel who holds both our hands and shows him the right way to walk in the parking lot. On bad day, I’ve ran after her (and, consequently, him) as they rush the wrong direction and ignore me calling after them. Then, I’m holding her hand (in a firm, but not aggressive way), as she yells “Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” and everyone near by looks to see how I am torturing my kid.

I console myself that I won’t be this enormous forever and I’ll get my sea legs back once the baby comes. I still have a month to get Ezra excited about doing this right. But just in case: A mama can have a baby in a sling and catch her toddler pretty quickly, right?