jmgoyder

Anthony’s legs and little Ming.

Ming didn’t walk until he was 18 months old. There was no warning; he didn’t crawl or bum-slide or even stand first. He simply went from sitting to walking, to running, to running away, all in the space of a single day. (Actually, it was a single hour).

On that eventful day, I sat him on the grass as I hung out the washing. He liked to sit and play with the wooden pegs and would happily do so for ages. So I thought nothing of going back inside to make myself a cup of coffee.

I’d just filled the kettle when I heard a shriek and, terrified, I dashed outside, thinking, snake? spider? My panic increased dramatically when I saw that Ming wasn’t where I’d plonked him just moments ago. Unable to comprehend this, I stood stock still and listened intently. Another shriek, just behind me and I whirled around only to spot Ming hiding behind a tree adjacent to the clothesline and giggling with delight. And he was standing up!

“Ming!” I exclaimed, running towards him, at which he shrieked again and toddled away, his fat little legs wobbling with the unfamiliar movement. Stunned, I watched him take around 15 steps before falling gently onto his behind.

I rushed up to him. “You’re walking!” It was my turn to shriek with delight. I sat down beside him on the grass but he immediately got up again and began to run, his laughter filling the air.

And so began Ming’s tearaway phase. It didn’t matter where we were – at home, at the park, visiting friends, he would do just that – tear away, as fast as he could. This phase lasted exactly a year and nearly drove us insane with worry because if we weren’t holding tightly to his hand – something Ming hated – he’d be off! With a channel running through our property, and an unfenced yard, Anthony and I had to take turns doing ‘Mingwatch.’

Of course it was much worse if I took Ming into town to shop. He would not stay by my side for an instant, wanting always to dash away, looking for adventure. I was terrified he’d run onto a road or that I’d lose him in the supermarket crowd. Finally, Anthony and I agreed we needed to buy a child restraint.

This “leash” got us plenty of dirty looks (mostly from parents of clingy children, I thought jealously). And once, walking through a crowd of Japanese tourists with Ming straining desperately against the white leather harness, we became (much to my embarrassment) the subject of enormous hilarity, and curious pointing fingers.

Ming was nearly three when the leash was finally discarded. We’d all – even Ming – become so used to it that it came as a shock one morning when, harnessing him up for a day in town, he quietly said, “I’m gonna buy a new mummy for twenny dollars if you doan let me fwee [free].”

His tone was ominous.

I took the leash off tentatively. “You won’t run away?” I asked nervously.

Ming grinned acquiescence and willingly took my hand. “Thassa good mummy,” he said.