Everything they’ve told me about parenting so far has been
true. They said I’d love her the instant
I met her, and they were right. They
said, when she was ready, potty-training would just happen—and it did. And they said that at some point, every kid
gets lost.
And yesterday, mine did.
It was the worst ten minutes of my life.
We took Emmy to the children’s science museum, which has a
pretty open-plan format, and tried to keep up with her. She’s fast, and her attention span is fairly
short, so by the time we had figured out what she was supposed to be
doing/learning at a specific exhibit, she’d already moved on, and we had to
scramble to catch up. She was so excited
to “play.”
And then, in the side room on the second floor, she just ran
off. I turned to follow her, and I
couldn’t see her anymore. I figured Tom
had kept an eye on her, so I didn’t panic, but I moved to catch up, and then I
saw that Tom wasn’t with her.
We made eye contact, and realized neither of us had the kid
in sight, so we both started checking the room.
We searched for about two minutes, and didn’t see her. I went back to a couple of places she had
already been to, and he checked the side room.
We met back, and then searched for about one more minute,
and I said, “I think it’s time to ask for help.”
So I went to the front desk and told them
that my daughter had walked away from me.
They initiated a staff search, asking me for details about her outfit
and hair color. They asked me to stay at
the desk, which I absolutely didn’t want to do, but knowing that Tom was
looking for her, I agreed and stood there, wringing my hands and worrying.
I listened to the traffic on the walkie-talkie at the desk,
and I tried to tamp down my panic. Where
on earth could she have gone to?
Finally, after what felt like an extremely long time (but
couldn’t have been more than 10-15 minutes) someone squawked on the radio that
they’d found her. I waved Tom down to
the front desk and, finally, she appeared at the top of the stairs, in a staff
member’s arms, sobbing.
They found her in the bathroom. The bathroom doors all push in, but pull
out. So, Emmy was able to get into the
bathroom, but couldn’t reach the handle to get herself out. She told us later that she had to wait for a
big one to get her out (big person?).
I don’t know if she left me and went straight to the
bathroom. I don’t know if she wandered
off and just happened upon a bathroom and decided she had to go. I don’t know what happened to the necklaces
she was wearing (they were gone when we found her), and I don’t know why she
pulled her hair down out of the ponytail.
I don’t know when she started crying.
And I don’t know why we didn’t check the damn bathrooms.
It turned out fine.
No lasting damage. But during
that terrible time, while I stood at the front desk, literally wringing my
hands, I didn’t know that would be the case, and it was terrifying. I hated being out of control. I hated not knowing where she was or what
might be happening to her.
The Discovery Center staff did a great job. I could see in the faces of the few staff members who crossed my line of sight that they were taking it seriously, and they found her quickly, without having to disrupt any of the other guests. I can't emphasize enough how much I appreciate them. We won't be going back to the Discovery Center for awhile, but it's not because the staff didn't do a great job-- it's just that I don't think Emmy is quite old enough to run around by herself in such a large space.
Every time I think about it, I get upset again, but I just don't think we could have done anything differently. I will always kick myself for not keeping up with her better, and for not checking the bathrooms right away. Tom and I both said later that we each thought about the possibility of her being in the bathroom, but we both shrugged it off. I didn't think that enough time had passed for her to have decided to go to the bathroom. I thought she was off playing, totally unaware that neither Mama nor Daddy knew where she was. I didn't think she could be stuck in the bathroom crying because she couldn't get out. The image that my brain produces of what that must have looked like will haunt me for a long time. I failed her. I wasn't there to get her out of that jam. I didn't check the bathroom.
But, on the other hand, I know I have to let it go. It's over, it ended fine, and we all learned from it. And that's the most positive thought I can muster about it today.
