Eat More Chiken, or, The Day I Lost My Kid

It happened at a Mommy and Me event. Outside, under a big white tent that you could rent for weddings and such. There were lots of mom-centric vendors. You know, cell phone people next to the Childen's Museum people next to the new-spa-in-town people next to the Chik-fil-a people. The latter was the problem.

I had my oldest daughter out of the stroller so she could burn off all that toddler energy. We tried some crafts. We walked around. We saw The Cow. The Eat More Chiken Cow. She bolted towards it. "See the cow?!?!"

Off she ran, through a crowd of people. I remember thinking, "No, that's too far. I can't see her from here." I grabbed the stroller with my youngest daughter in it. I walked quickly towards The Cow.

I looked for her. I looked again. No. She came this way. I watched her come this way. There's The Cow. Where is she? She has to be here. (What if she ran out of the tent?) I looked again, spinning around slowly in a circle. (Where could she be? What if someone took her?) Oh. My. God. Where is she? I spin around again. (They could take her. They could take her and no one would notice because of the crowd.)

I remember running to the edge of the tent, looking frantically. And then, I lost it. I ran back to the middle of the tent and I lost my mind.

It felt like I was in a movie. The kind with the scenes with mothers who look away right as the villian snatches their child from the playground and takes them away and tortures them. I kept spinning around in a circle, yelling her name, as a sea of faces and figures rushed past me. None of it made any sense. I was screaming. I couldn't hear anything, but I did realize that music stopped. I knew everyone was staring. I kept screaming her name. (In hindsight, I REALLY must've looked crazy at first, given my daugher's name is the same as our state of residence.) I heard only the sound of my heart beating and my breath. A woman tried to pull me back to reality.

"What is your daugher wearing?"

"Bright yellow sundress. Bright yellow. Bright yellow," I said. I coninued to spin around, too frantic to see anything. Everything was blurry. My heart was in my throat, and in my stomach, and my heart was gone. My baby. My baby. My baby. This can't be happening to me. This can't be happening to me.

"She's right here!"

What?

There she was, squatting down, not 5 feet from where we were standing before this whole drama began, pointing to a dog. Oh, my sweet baby! My baby!

I ran to her, picked her up, and held her. I walked to the outside of the tent and stood there, just holding her, as she kept pointing to the dog. She felt so small in my arms. Had she always been this small? Not sure how long we stood there. She soon started to squirm and wiggle. I know I told her I loved her, and to never, NEVER run away from Mommy again.

A few minutes later, after I'd collected myself and strapped the runaway into the stroller, a woman said this to me,

"I'm so glad you found her. That must be a horrible feeling. You know, at first I thought you were part of storytime and were just a great actress." Well, thanks so much for your help in my time of need.

So, obviously, this is not my best moment. It's the top of my scary moments list. And I'm still not over it. Taking the kids places stresses me out majorly. I still do it, but I don't feel safe trying to multitask it. You know what I mean? I see these groups of moms at the park or the children's museum, and they're just sitting there talking while their kids play. They're not watching their kids AT ALL. It terrifies me.

I know someday, I'm going to have to let her wander out of my sight. I know that. Just not quite yet.