Wake Up, Daddy!

Every parent has that moment.

That story.

The one they hope nobody ever finds out about.

This is mine.

A few mornings ago, my son woke up before 8:00 a.m. and climbed into bed with me for a cuddle. This isn’t unusual. In fact, it’s one of my favourite parts of being a dad. He’ll curl up beside me, steal most of the blankets, and somehow manage to position his feet directly into my ribs.

We spent a little while like that before he decided he was done. Without warning, he sat up, looked at me, and cheerfully announced:

“Wake up, Daddy!”

Then he climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.

Also normal.

He’s done that plenty of times before. Usually, he goes downstairs and finds some way to entertain himself as I trail behind him. Sometimes that means playing with toys. Sometimes it means singing at the top of his lungs. Sometimes it means following the dog around until one of them gets annoyed. The point is, it’s never involved leaving the house.

What I did not anticipate was that this particular morning, he had a much larger agenda.

While I was upstairs attempting to become a functioning human being, my son apparently decided it was time for an adventure.

He put on his shoes.

He tried on my sunglasses.

He unlocked the front door.

And then he left.

Meanwhile, I was still in the early stages of parenthood’s daily challenge: finding pants.

By the time I made it downstairs, something felt off. The house was completely silent. The dog was staring at the open door like he had just witnessed a crime.

…and the front door was wide open.

There are moments in life where your brain immediately jumps to the worst possible conclusion.

This was one of them.

I ran outside.

Nothing.

I checked the yard.

Nothing.

Then I remembered the doorbell camera. The footage showed exactly what had happened.

There he was. Tiny. In his pyjamas. Marching down the street like he owned the neighbourhood.

I took off after him.

Thankfully, some concerned people had already spotted a small child wandering around alone and managed to stop him before he got very far. One of them was actually someone I knew, which was a relief. It also meant there was now one more person in town who had witnessed my greatest parenting failure in real time.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see people in my life.

After thanking them approximately seventeen times, I collected my tiny escape artist, and we began what can only be described as the parental walk of shame back to the house.

He was completely unfazed.

I, on the other hand, was experiencing several emotions simultaneously.

I was terrified.

I was furious.

I was relieved.

And if I’m being completely honest, despite my blood pressure and heart rate reaching near critical levels, a very small part of me was impressed.

Because the amount of planning involved here was remarkable.

The kid didn’t just wander outside.

He prepared.

He put on footwear.

He accessorized.

He selected transportation-ready attire.

He had a vision.

The good news is that everything ended safely. Nobody was hurt. Nothing happened beyond a very frightened dad getting an unexpected cardio workout before breakfast.

The bad news is that I now know my son is capable of far more than I previously believed. That’s on me.

The lesson here is simple.

Children are fast.

Children are clever.

And apparently, children can execute a complete neighbourhood escape plan while their parents are still trying to put on pants.

As for me, I’ve added a few new safety measures around the house, including a new lock that is far out of his reach.

As for my son, I’m pretty sure he’s already planning his next adventure. I just hope it doesn’t involve digging a tunnel.

Anyway, the difference is that now I know exactly how far he’s willing to go before breakfast.

And I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to catch him.