Today Was Tough

As I sit here typing through tears, I feel ashamed, embarrassed—and I hate that I do. But today was hard.

Our son is adopted. He was born addicted to drugs. He’s 21 months old and has more energy than most kids his age. Maybe it’s his biology. Maybe it’s the unknowns we still don’t have answers for. But what we do know is: he runs. Fast. And constantly.

So, yes—I use a backpack leash.

Before I was a mom, I swore I’d never do that. “I’ll never need a leash for my kid,” I thought. But now I get it. Parenthood has a way of humbling you.

My son doesn’t like to be confined. Car seat, high chair, stroller, shopping cart—you name it, he hates it. And since scar tissue from my hysterectomy makes it painful to run, chasing after him isn’t always possible. This isn’t about being lazy. I used to be a runner. But life changes.

I try to avoid public meltdowns by using services like Shipt when I can. But sometimes, we just need groceries. Sometimes we have to go out.

Today we went to Target. And he did amazing.
He laughed. He smiled. He stayed close, leash and all.

But still—people stared. Five different strangers gave me side-eyes, judgment, disapproval.

I wanted to grab my things and go.

People don’t know our story. They don’t see the therapy appointments, the sleepless nights, the effort it takes to keep this beautiful, energetic child safe and thriving. They don’t see how far he’s come, how hard we work, how fiercely we love him.

They just see a leash.
And they judge.

I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing for the next mom who gets that look in the grocery aisle. For the dad who walks a few steps behind his toddler with a harness, fighting the same silent battle.

My son doesn’t have a disability—he’s just a runner. And I’m doing what I need to do to keep him safe.

So if you see us out and about, and he’s wearing his little backpack leash, just know:
This is love. This is protection.
This is parenting.

And we’re doing our best.