The Runaway

I want to tell you a little story about a cute, sweet, curly haired litle girl named Olivia. Once upon a time this little darling Olivia decided she knew how to run. And run she did. She ran everywhere. She ran to her room for more toys. She ran to the kitchen for a snack. She ran in the backyard chasing baseballs that her older brother Riley tossed to her. She even ran to the laundry room when her Mommy was washing clothes to lend an extra hand. She was the best runner in the whole wide world. Oh, and the worst listener. EVER.

It doesn't matter where we go, she will run. You want to go to the grocery store, plan on running. A trip to the mall? Run. Hey, do you want to just plain ol' go running? Hell, you better plan on running further. I've used the word "run" so many times when describing her to other people that the word has lost all meaning to me. I say it like I'd say "dfljkghdvflnsdgh" because that is just about how much sense it makes to me now.

This past weekend was the big Memorial 3 day mini vacation for most everyone. We took advantage by filling our time with at least 2 events per day and a few errands or smaller trips here and there if we could muster the energy. Between the birthday parties, the regular parties, the BBQ's, going out to dinner, hanging with family and just playing outside in general, I am almost 100% positive that I said "Where is Olivia?" at LEAST 300 times. Nope, I take that back. At least 400 times. I kid you not. My child was like the frickin wind. One minute she's standing beside you holding your leg in a state of pure shyness, the next she is frolicking in the front yard of the neighbors house... 8 houses away. Perhaps it's not the running part that is so bad, but rather where she runs to. The street. Always the street. It's like a magnet for her 29 pound body. It pulls her, she gravitates. Pulls a little more, she is quickly (like almost at lightning speed) hurling her way toward that dangerous blacktop where cars are whizzing by. Forget the whole thing if you yell "Stop!" or "Danger!". She thinks that is hilarious and will, without a doubt, run faster. On Saturday of this past week I hadn't quite realized that yet. By Sunday night I was yelling "Ice cream!" or "Puppy!" and only then did I even have a 50/50 chance of her coming back. Add to that the fact that during most of these events I had the baby strapped onto me in the carrier... yeah, go ahead and laugh as you picture me sprinting down the street with her in tow. I looked like a gazelle... no wait, that would be too much of a compliment. I looked like a penguin. Holding on to the head of my precious infant to keep her from violently shaking back and forth, I was running as quickly as I could in flip-flops. Unfortunately the weight of the carrier in front of me caused me to sort of waddle back and forth and so, most times I would scream at the top of my lungs "RYAN HELP!" and scare the living daylights out of my already fear-stricken baby. Oh the trauma, I hope it's not permanent. Honest, Natalie. I was just trying to save your sister's life. So anyway, my husband found that if left to her own devices, she really will keep going. Like a bloodhound. She catches a scent and off she goes. He watched her run from the porch of my in-law's house at least 6 houses down into their cul-de-sac and not once... NOT ONCE...did she even look back. He finally ran to chase her and had to tackle her on someone's front porch. She was nothing but wild screams and flying crazy hair. Pissed that someone put a crimp in her travel plans.

The sad part is that now I find myself asking where she is even when I've just put her down for a nap, or strapped her in her highchair. It's like some mechanism has been set off in my head to periodically ask where she is to put myself at ease for the next 45 seconds before I start wondering again. Any Mother reading this will agree that there truly is no feeling like the drop of your stomach and stopping of your heart that is brought on by that split second when you don't know where your kid is. Okay, well take that feeling and multiply it by 400. That was me this past weekend. People actually started looking at me like I'd lost my mind. I couldn't enjoy myself anymore. I even had teams of people keeping an eye on her because when it was just one or two of us she'd somehow elude the situation and slip out the door. I'm not kidding! At one point she snuck out of a Little Tikes car and replaced herself with a decoy, some poor kid who'd been waiting patiently to ride in it anyway. You look down, you see a little kid in the car from the corner of your eye and you think "Good, she's still there". Look one minute later and poof! You realize it was never her all along. OH GOD. Wait for it... wait for it.... "Where is Olivia?". Some gentle souls were so used to hearing me say it that they even gave me updates on her whereabouts before I even asked. I love you guys by the way.

So the weekend was great, it truly was. I thank all of you who hosted parties and invited us. We had a great time. I can't remember much but being hysterical over where my daughter was at 90% of the time, but at least the other members of my family seemed to enjoy themselves! Me, on the other hand, I just came to the realization that I need better running shoes. Oh, and flip-flops are a major no-no.