I found a baby

When I was a little girl, I used to wish I could be a hero and adopt some sad little child who didn't have someone to love him/her and I would be the one to make all this child's dreams come true. Never in this vision was there a real focus on the fact that this child wasn't loved or taken care of, it was more of the idea that I would be able to give this child the love I knew he/she needed ... if that makes any sense at all.

Turns out reality is so much less glamorous than my wish. Who knew?

This morning started out great. I had an awesome night's sleep (thanks Bailey and Michael), woke up at 6:00 a.m., fed the baby, showered, and was out the door by 7:15 to pick up some last minute items for a cake I had scheduled for the day.

Even better, I was in and out of the grocery store before 8:00 a.m. and was mentally doing a premature happy dance just knowing I was going to get done with the cake fairly early in the day and have the evening to do other things.

I was so smart. I left the grocery store thinking "I don't want to hit the main road without a stoplight at this time of morning because I'll never be able to turn left. I'll go on some side streets until I get to an intersection with a light."

Scratch the first sentence of the previous paragraph. If I had been so smart, I would've gone out the other side of the parking lot and hit a light immediately ... but then there would be no story.

Some would say I was meant to go the way I decided, that a higher purpose drove me there. I'm having a hard time figuring out whom it was meant to help though ... Myself? Doubtful, since mostly I was just stressed and worried all day about it. Did I help the boy? In the sense that I got him out of the road and away from future traffic, yes, I would say definitely. But I scared him and I'll always just have to pray that he went back to a loving home.

That's where the reality part stings. I don't feel like a hero. In my childhood fantasy, I always knew I had done something really great and the child loved me for it. In reality, I question every little thing I did and the child will most definitely never love me. Love my absence maybe, but not love me.

Okay, here's the story. I went on some side streets that I never take and saw a little boy who appeared to be around the age of 2 wandering in the street close to a minivan. As I came to a stop at the intersection, I searched all over for an adult, or anyone who appeared to be watching the child. Zilch. Nada. Ghost town.

My first thought was that someone was still in the van and the boy was waiting for that person to get out of the van. I didn't think too much about the fact that all he had on was a diaper because, well, I'm a mom and there could be a million explanations for a diaper clad baby--among them the excessive heat we've been experiencing, the fact that it was still really early and maybe that's all he slept in, or like my experience last weekend, he had an explosive diaper and there was no point ruining another outfit in the poop-filled seat.

Anyway, after a few seconds of sitting at the stop sign and watching this boy as he came into the grass and looked at the van, and then no one getting out of the van, I pulled up behind it and got out. I grabbed him before he ran back out the street-side of the van ... which, in hindsight, is probably when I scared him because I probably yelled "no" louder than I consciously tried to yell.

I asked him his name and got a tiny little shoulder shrug. I asked him where he lived and he started running between two houses. I went to follow him and stopped short. No way was I going to let him or myself go between those two houses. It screamed "TRAP" and I got goosebumps and my adrenaline started pumping. I'm talking straight out of a horror movie. I can't remember now exactly what it was that set my every nerve on end, but I felt like it wasn't safe and I couldn't make myself walk between the houses not knowing what lurked on the other side (and trust me, lurk is the precise word I want to use. It just had that sort of feeling). Not a chance. Not happening. I yelled for him to come back to me, and somewhat surprisingly, he did.

Then he ran to the porch of a house that didn't have a front door. (Did I mention it wasn't the greatest area?) He started to go in the door, and I said "no, let's just stay out here. Where's your mommy?" Then he ran to another porch. He stayed on that porch; he even knocked on the window a couple times to no avail. I waited and looked around for someone to come out of a house so I could ask them if they knew the child. Looking back, it's probably a good thing no one came out because I don't know if I would've trusted their answer anyway.

Assessment of the situation: Child on a porch, out of the street. Me standing there not knowing what exactly to do next but fully aware I'm not qualified to handle whatever has to happen next. Ergo, a quick dial to 911.

First thing they asked? "What's your location?" Doh. Probably should've figured that out before I called, eh? My brilliant response: "You know, I have no idea. Let me just check the road sign. Just a second." We were right next to the intersection at a house on the corner, so it really did just take a second to tell them where I was. Then they asked my name. Then they asked what the situation was.

When I told her I found a boy wandering in the streets, she said "Oh dear!" (At least I'm not the only one without a brilliant response). She told me she was sending an officer to my location.

Meanwhile, the poor wee one is peeking through the slats on the porch, obviously scared, and I didn't have any clue what to do next besides keep him away from the street. So since he was on the porch and I was obviously scaring him, I stayed between him and the street. Actually, I sat down because I figured it would be a little while before the cops showed up.

That's when Tony called, and I don't remember the exact conversation, but apparently the way I worded it made it sound like I was sitting on someone else's porch with that someone else's child. So he freaked and said it wasn't safe. He asked where I was and I told him and since he was on his way to work, he was only about a block away from me and turned around.

As soon as he pulled up in the van at the curb, the little boy yelled "nana" and ran toward the van. I picked him up at that point because he was going straight for the van and the street again. The poop down the backside of his leg was the least of my concerns at that exact moment. He said "nana" again and was pointing toward the van. Our van.

I said, "That's not nana, honey. His name is Tony." This embarrassed the poor boy and he covered his cute little brown eyes and looked over my shoulder so I couldn't see his face. Tony got out of the van and the little boy yelled "dada" and reached for Tony. He wanted nothing to do with me after that.

We stood there for awhile. I was probably with him for all of 15 minutes before the cops showed up, and as soon as the first cop got out of the car, he yelled "dada" again and went to him. The cop asked him his name. Shrug. Where's mommy? Shrug. How old are you? Something indiscernible. Are you two? Nod.

Another cop showed up. The boy called him "dada" as well and this officer checked the back of his diaper and said "pretty wet." I'm not entirely sure what good that assessment did, but he must have thought it was important. He asked us to watch the little boy while he went and knocked on doors.

First door, no answer. Second door, no answer. The second cop tried to get the little boy to sit in the back of the car because the little boy wanted to go wherever the first cop went, which clearly isn't safe because cops never know who or what they'll be facing when the door actually opens. The little boy, however, was smart enough not to want to get in a stranger's car. He just kept shaking his head no.

Meanwhile, the first cop went to a 3rd door, which happened to be where the little boy stayed on the porch while I talked to 911. I couldn't see anything, but I heard him say "Is your mom or dad here?" Pause. Someone else came to the door, and the officer yelled back towards us, "This is where he belongs."

At that point, my civil duty was done. They took my name and address and told us we could leave. I assume they'll have to report it to Child Protective Services, and I don't have any idea if they'll have to contact me for that or not. Hopefully my 911 call (albeit a bit ditzy at the beginning) was enough of a statement. There isn't much else I could tell them, and I'd probably have more questions than answers for them anyway.

Questions like, is he okay? Is he in a good home? Was his reason for being in the street something completely innocent (like he's a curious 2-year old who accidentally shut the door after letting himself out) or is it a common theme that no one was watching? Why did it take so long for someone to notice he wasn't there? Or better yet, why did they have to wait for a cop to beat on the door before they even opened it? Was the mom/dad asleep? Surely no one would ignore the fact that the child was missing, right? Was the parent even concerned when the officer showed him/her the child? What was going through their head? Were they relieved? Frightened? In shock? Think it was amusing? Annoyed that whatever they were doing was interrupted?

Obviously, I'm not going to get the answers to any of those questions, and they've been haunting me all day. I just hope that I didn't return him to someone who isn't going to be his hero.