Pants-Free Parenting: Chasing toddlers — The joys of running away

Yes, I know my baby is running away. Thank you.

These words should be tattooed on my forehead. Everywhere I go, there my son goes, toddling away. He never looks back, he just runs - his little arms chugging, his chubby cheeks bouncing with each step. A librarian called me 'the mom of the little boy who runs away all the time.” A well-meaning teacher at the park, shouted, 'Someone's child is running!”

'I know,” I said slowly standing up, 'I know.”

Last week, at Chik-fil-a, he ran out of the play area and into the restaurant. 'Is anyone watching this boy?” a mom asked following him.

'Sort of,” I said. I made no move to get him. I wanted to finish my drink first.

I read research that toddlers learn independence by walking 20 feet from their parents and then returning - venturing out father and farther, but always returning. My son never returns.

Once at Bever Park, I followed him from a distance, just to see where he'd go. He made it all the way from the main playground down to the bridge, before I picked him up. 'Where are you going?” I asked.

'Amimals,” he said pointing to the Old MacDonald's Farm just a few feet away. 'Amimals, den Jude go home.”

Well, at least Jude has a plan because I have no idea what I am doing.

My son also runs away from home. I've caught him chugging down the sidewalk in search of the neighbor's car. I told my neighbors that if they see him, return him to me. I'm only halfway joking. I am told this is a phase. I'm told this will go by in a flash. I'm told other things that I don't have time to listen to because my son is running away down the street. Hold on.

Years ago, when my daughter was born, my mother gave us a child leash. 'How could she?” I said to my husband. 'This is so barbaric!”

Recently, I got the leash out of storage and put it in my purse. ”I thought you hated that thing,” my husband said.

I glared. 'You lose our son three times in the Children's Museum and then we can talk about barbaric!” I've already stretched out a few of his shirts while holding on to them and trying to order food/talk to a librarian/check out at the grocery store. The last time I took him to the children's museum, I was so focused on not losing him, I lost my 4-year-old. She was very calm and did exactly what she was supposed to. Found an adult, gave them my first and last name and then waited patiently for me to show up, panicked and sweating. As I hugged her, my son tried to toddle away.

My daughter is very practical about it all. 'Mom, bubba is running away again,” she will say. Her tone is so blase. She's says it several times a day. It's like pointing out the sky is blue or that we need more milk. Things that she also points out with frequency and a little impatience. She is a better person than me.

I haven't quite built up the courage to tie a leash on him, although I am considering kennel training. I do know that these phases go so fast. Two years ago, I was driven to tears by my daughter's insistence that she kick the wall for 20 minutes every morning at 5.

We did everything we could to stop it and then, one day she just didn't kick the walls anymore. I wouldn't even remember except that I recently washed those tiny feet marks off her wall. I'm sure there were other things. I remember my son's penchant for biting my shins when he started to crawl and my daughter taking 20 minutes to fall asleep for her naps. I remember sobbing when I put my daughter on formula at 9 months because pumping at work was so awful, I couldn't do it anymore. But that is all I recall.

I know that life as a parent is ebb and flow. That the things I worry about today will be nothing compared to what comes tomorrow. I had one mom tell me, 'Running away is easy, its pot you have to worry about.” Truth, random mom at Target.

I must becoming an old mom, because I find myself telling my friends similar things. 'Don't worry about what your kid eats, because tomorrow they will crap on the floor and then you will be worried about that.” I picture myself in 20 years, wizened, lurking in the checkout aisles of Target, just waiting for a haggard mom with two screaming children to come rolling up with her box of tampons, fruit snacks and bottle of whiskey.

'Love this time,” I'll tell her. She will rightfully punch me in the face. But I won't be wrong and neither will she. Parenting is both the best and worst. The most exhilarating and most frustrating thing I have ever done. And while part of me inwardly freaks out when my son runs away, the other part of me loves it. I love watching his determined cheeks and serious fists even as they flee from me.

So yes, I know my baby is running away and I'll get him, right after I finish this drink and enjoy this crazy moment.

' Lyz Lenz is a writer, mother of two and hater of pants; eclenz@gmail.com or find her writing at LyzLenz.com.