Baby on the run

BY KERRY WILLIAMSON

I was busy when the boy made a break for it.

Looking back now, it's clear he'd been plotting for a while, waiting for just the right moment. And when opportunity knocked, he answered.

I was on the phone to mum, distracted by talk of her award-winning garden, when the boy began his flight for freedom.

He knew exactly where he was going, and he was stopping for no one.

By the time I knew what was happening, he was long gone. I hung up the phone, cased the joint and the boy was nowhere.

He'd disappeared into thin air, done a Houdini, made a clean getaway. He was on the run, a fugitive in a onesie.

I told myself he couldn't have gone far. He's an eight-month-old baby with limited crawling skills. I stayed calm, didn't panic.

The leggy broad - the wife - was at work, so I knew it was up to me. I'm no good at finding things at the best of times - my keys, my phone, a clean pair of socks - so I knew I had to knuckle down.

I got the dog on the case, but she had a full bowl of dog food to take care of and didn't have the nose for a manhunt.

I was on my own.

I searched the lounge first, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

I checked behind the curtains - a favourite haunt of the kid's - and poked my head under the coffee table, but no dice.

I high-tailed it to the spare room, but there was no sign. I headed to the bathroom, but the boy wasn't there.

His room was my last chance saloon, and my heart was beating a little faster when I walked through his door. 

I looked under his cot, behind his change table, next to his bookcase, but no luck.

Things were getting serious. The boy had pulled a swift one, and I was floundering.

And then I heard it.

I thought it was the wind at first, but the air was calm and still.

And when I heard it a second time, I knew it wasn't my ears playing tricks.

It was a giggle, plain and simple. I'd know that giggle anywhere.

There he was, out past the front door, trying to climb into his stroller.

He must have had plans to use it as his getaway car. Got to hand it to him, the kid was ambitious.

I nabbed him and that was that, the boy's escape was over.

He'd been busted. I knew it and he knew it.

There was only one place for him - baby prison.

We'd bought it just days before, and the boy was quickly sentenced to 20 minutes hard labour with only his toys for company.

In truth, it wasn't advertised as a baby prison - its makers claim it's simply a travel cot.

But we know better.

It has four walls, too high for the boy to scale.

There's no way he could tunnel through the dust-mite free mattress.

It's a cell, plain and simple.

A jail for juniors, a clink for kids.

I've got to hand it to the kid; he's taken to crawling like a duck to water.

His favourite adventure is to head out of the living room, down the hall and into the kitchen, where he enjoys taunting the dog by heading straight for her food bowl.

He can do all of that in the time it takes for you to check an email or go to the toilet.

Spend too long washing your hands, and he's eating Pal Meaty Bites.

I was hesitant at first. I didn't want to pen the boy in. I didn't like the idea of my son being a caged bird.

I believe that if you love someone, you should set them free. I was all about the clichés.

But the wife talked me round. I bought into the prison system, and set up the "cot" in the lounge.

Once inside the boy laid it on thick.

He cried and looked at me with those big innocent eyes.

But I'm no mug.

I stood strong and in a few minutes he'd given up plotting his escape and had cuddled into his favourite teddy.

We practice double-bunking in this house - boy and bear.

It seems he's grown to like it. And let's face it, it's no Alcatraz.

But I know that as soon as my back is turned, he'll be plotting his escape.

I wouldn't be surprised to find a rope made of teddy bear whiskers hidden in a corner of the cot.

Kids these days - give them an inch and they'll take a mile. You've got to keep your wits about you.

Be ready for anything.

My boy's had a taste of freedom.

You know he'll be wanting more.

 

- © Fairfax NZ News