Love Bug has had a few stellar tantrums lately. In speaking with other mummas of four-year old girls, this seems to be normal. They come out of nowhere, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to put my finger on the trigger.

We talk about them afterwards. In her own time {which is usually almost immediately} she tells me she’s sorry and we talk about how we can try to identify which feelings she is feeling or what she is thinking about that makes her so cross. So far, not much luck.

Then, over the weekend, she ran away from me. Heart. Stopping. Mumma. Moment. {And not in a good way.}

Thankfully, we were in the pet supply warehouse, so the only way for her to get out was the huge front roller door. Which is just by the registers and where a lot of people are generally congregating to talk and pat furry friends.

Within that warehouse, however, there is aisle after aisle of crates stacked with all manner of pet paraphernalia. Crates which tower above the small person running to hide from her mumma.

The store was pretty busy too, so there were legs and dogs to hide behind in between aisle breaks.

What if someone picked her up? How far would they get with her before I could reach them? Despite my yelling her name over and over to stop, she didn’t slow. I followed her one way, she ducked and ran the other. If I thought my heart was beating fast as she ran towards the back of the store, it went double time as she ran back towards the front.

The open door.

The car park.

The large park, drains and harbour just beyond.

The people. Rather, the strangers.

The horror.

Why has this child who has never, ever looked like leaving my side no matter what state she is in, now running at full pelt in the direct opposite direction to me?

Out of view and out of reach. Out of our circle of safety.

I finally catch her, scooping her up in my arms just as she reaches the bottom of the slight ramp out of the warehouse. I have pulled my tendon again as I skidded to a halt beside her. I am in pain. Physical pain, but also emotional pain.

My reaction was probably exacerbated because of my anxiety over the last 18 months. I carried her in a vice grip to the car, put her in her seat and barely said a word. She hit me repeatedly as I tried to strap her in. No mumma, no.

We drove home in silence. Well, I was silent, but she was screaming. I told her how scared she had made me and how dangerous it is to run away from someone who is looking after you. I was aware to not overdo it, but I needed to get the message home.

At home she wrapped herself around me. I’m sorry my mumma, I don’t want to make you sad or scared. I not run away ever ever again forever.

Later in the evening we talked again about how important it is to not run away. The following morning she said that she was sorry she’d made me sad and that she will always be with me and not run to where she can’t see me.

Please DOG that she doesn’t. My head and heart might implode.