on almost losing my second-born
I constantly count my children.
One-two-three-four.
If there are four little ducklings following me, I'm good.
(correction: three follow. one tends to hang on my hip or have no choice but to ride in the stroller in front of me....she's got no choice in the matter, and she's not too hard to lose)
Monday, it was a different story.
It was one-two-three (or, technically, one-three-four)
Two was missing.
And I even had my own mother with me--another set of adult eyes that should help to ensure no lost children.
Whoops.
It was our Spring Break trip to the Children's Museum, a spot we frequent 3-4 times a year. We love that place, have favorite exhibits, know when to go where to avoid the crowds.
Except for Monday.
That was a different story.
The entire place was crowded.
Spring Break, you know, in Indiana, which meant it was 30 degrees outside.
We were at our last stop for the day.
Top floor, Science Works.
It was Reagan's choice, even.
(on every visit, the kids make a 1st and 2nd choice list of which parts to go to. they're guaranteed their 1st, the 2nd is negotiable)
By that point, I was spent.
Ready to be done.
Told Reagan that since it was her choice, she could pick where to go first in the room.
Told her she had 15 minutes.
After 5 minutes of playing at the water station with McKinley, Reagan appeared.
"Mom, I want to go back to the digging station!"
The spot at the very back of the room.
At that point, I had lost (momentarily) track of McK.
Told Reagan to find McK, tell her that we were going to move spots first.
McK then appeared.
"Did Reagan send you here?"
Yes.
"Where is Reagan now?"
I don't know.
No panic at first, just searching eyes, two sets of them.
But slowly, second by lingering second, fear crept over me like a heavy wool blanket, scratchy and not very comforting.
Where was she?
I started sweating.
My mouth ran dry.
My hands shook.
My feet took me on laps around the room.
One and three were instructed to STAY PUT at the stroller with four, even though one's eyes told me she was just as afraid, wanted just as much to help me search.
How could she have slipped out of the room right underneath my gaze?
Someone had to have taken her.
I've even talked to my girls about this in the past, what to do, just in case.
Looking back, I probably screamed into the poor old man's face.
He was wearing a scientist's white jacket, but he was wearing a Children's Museum employee's ID badge around his neck.
"Sir, I can't find my daughter!"
At the red emergency phone, he called for security.
Code Adam.
Lost kid.
My kid.
My Reagan.
I described her hair, her height, her name, her clothes, all without crying....though the tears were just waiting to course down my face, waiting my permission.
"Don't worry, ma'am. We lose about 100 kids a week here. None of them permanently--yet."
I know the poor man meant to comfort me.
But I was sure that the "yet" was meant for "now".
This was it, I thought.
A moment that I've feared from the depths of who I am, ever since taking on the title of "parent" 10 1/2 years ago.
Here's the thing I've dreaded.
The horrible terror that was just waiting for me.
My child is gone.
The yellow-shirted security guy showed up.
He started searching the room, calling out her name.
I did the same, going in the opposite direction as him.
I quickly found myself at the back of the room, at the digging station where Reagan wanted to go next.
I saw her hair first, then her fuzzy pink GAP hoodie.
She had her back to me, driving the child-sized bulldozer, moving rocks.
Right where she told me she wanted to me.
Helping another boy who asked her for help.
Oblivious to the fact that her momma was having a panic attack.
Wondering why she was instantly pulled by the neck off the bulldozer by her bear-like momma (yes, I may have even growled).
Slowly, I realized that my communication failed.
I told her to tell her sister that we were going to move spots.
I neglected to tell her to come back to me first, before going there to play.
Easy mistake.
(not easy emotions)
Then another fear sank into my depths.
I had to tell my husband.
Yikes.
I actually almost convinced myself that he didn't need to know.
After all, all was well.
But I told him.
He was....well, angry/upset/mad/whatever.
Why didn't I call him?
Well, because I valued finding our daughter as a bigger priority than letting him know his daughter was missing.....which probably wasn't for more than 10 minutes.
Truth is, I can't bear the thought of losing that precious beauty.
She's compassionate to her core.
She's smart.
She's determined.
She's half me.
Today, I'm considering heading to the zoo.
Not planning on losing any children.
Just please don't tell my husband....
One-two-three-four.
If there are four little ducklings following me, I'm good.
(correction: three follow. one tends to hang on my hip or have no choice but to ride in the stroller in front of me....she's got no choice in the matter, and she's not too hard to lose)
Monday, it was a different story.
It was one-two-three (or, technically, one-three-four)
Two was missing.
And I even had my own mother with me--another set of adult eyes that should help to ensure no lost children.
Whoops.
It was our Spring Break trip to the Children's Museum, a spot we frequent 3-4 times a year. We love that place, have favorite exhibits, know when to go where to avoid the crowds.
Except for Monday.
That was a different story.
The entire place was crowded.
Spring Break, you know, in Indiana, which meant it was 30 degrees outside.
We were at our last stop for the day.
Top floor, Science Works.
It was Reagan's choice, even.
(on every visit, the kids make a 1st and 2nd choice list of which parts to go to. they're guaranteed their 1st, the 2nd is negotiable)
By that point, I was spent.
Ready to be done.
Told Reagan that since it was her choice, she could pick where to go first in the room.
Told her she had 15 minutes.
After 5 minutes of playing at the water station with McKinley, Reagan appeared.
"Mom, I want to go back to the digging station!"
The spot at the very back of the room.
At that point, I had lost (momentarily) track of McK.
Told Reagan to find McK, tell her that we were going to move spots first.
McK then appeared.
"Did Reagan send you here?"
Yes.
"Where is Reagan now?"
I don't know.
No panic at first, just searching eyes, two sets of them.
But slowly, second by lingering second, fear crept over me like a heavy wool blanket, scratchy and not very comforting.
Where was she?
I started sweating.
My mouth ran dry.
My hands shook.
My feet took me on laps around the room.
One and three were instructed to STAY PUT at the stroller with four, even though one's eyes told me she was just as afraid, wanted just as much to help me search.
How could she have slipped out of the room right underneath my gaze?
Someone had to have taken her.
I've even talked to my girls about this in the past, what to do, just in case.
Looking back, I probably screamed into the poor old man's face.
He was wearing a scientist's white jacket, but he was wearing a Children's Museum employee's ID badge around his neck.
"Sir, I can't find my daughter!"
At the red emergency phone, he called for security.
Code Adam.
Lost kid.
My kid.
My Reagan.
I described her hair, her height, her name, her clothes, all without crying....though the tears were just waiting to course down my face, waiting my permission.
"Don't worry, ma'am. We lose about 100 kids a week here. None of them permanently--yet."
I know the poor man meant to comfort me.
But I was sure that the "yet" was meant for "now".
This was it, I thought.A moment that I've feared from the depths of who I am, ever since taking on the title of "parent" 10 1/2 years ago.
Here's the thing I've dreaded.
The horrible terror that was just waiting for me.
My child is gone.
The yellow-shirted security guy showed up.
He started searching the room, calling out her name.
I did the same, going in the opposite direction as him.
I quickly found myself at the back of the room, at the digging station where Reagan wanted to go next.
I saw her hair first, then her fuzzy pink GAP hoodie.
She had her back to me, driving the child-sized bulldozer, moving rocks.
Right where she told me she wanted to me.
Helping another boy who asked her for help.
Oblivious to the fact that her momma was having a panic attack.
Wondering why she was instantly pulled by the neck off the bulldozer by her bear-like momma (yes, I may have even growled).
Slowly, I realized that my communication failed.
I told her to tell her sister that we were going to move spots.
I neglected to tell her to come back to me first, before going there to play.
Easy mistake.
(not easy emotions)
Then another fear sank into my depths.
I had to tell my husband.
Yikes.
I actually almost convinced myself that he didn't need to know.
After all, all was well.
But I told him.
He was....well, angry/upset/mad/whatever.
Why didn't I call him?
Well, because I valued finding our daughter as a bigger priority than letting him know his daughter was missing.....which probably wasn't for more than 10 minutes.
Truth is, I can't bear the thought of losing that precious beauty.
She's compassionate to her core.
She's smart.
She's determined.
She's half me.
Today, I'm considering heading to the zoo.
Not planning on losing any children.
Just please don't tell my husband....
Every parents worst nightmare!
ReplyDeleteSo glad it was a Very temporary, although I am sure seemed like forever experience.
Brayden was known for disappearing on me even with an older one in charge of helping me keep track of him. As much as I hate them, I think I would have considered a child leash if they had been around for him.
Praying it gave her a little scare too and she stays close at the zoo!