Remember when I previously posted about whether backpack leashes were cruel or a useful safety tool? No? At the time of this post, I hadn’t become part of the leash community, but I had thought about it. Actually writing this post made me decide having a leash on hand wasn’t a bad idea. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it, right?
With so much debate, I decided to document my daughter’s reaction to her first time with her backpack leash when we went to the Lebanese Food Fest last weekend. She’s a spunky, energetic, determined, and overly dramatic terrible 2, so the results could have been anything.
When I first put the backpack on her, she seemed to like it. She felt like one of the big kids -- or Dora, so she bounced around so everyone could see her new backpack.
While we ate some delicious peas and rice, I unhooked the leash. Since she was in a contained space, I didn't see the need. Food is her unofficial leash anyways.
This is where I was worried the situation would become disastrous....she realized her backpack limited her mobility. A mini meltdown followed by a short effort to take the the leash part from my hand. Naturally I thought this was the end of our short adventure...
But never fear, just her being a normal terrible 2. Back to safely exploring, or in other words, getting in people's way so they can check out her Dora status with her new backpack!
Positive first experiences with something that could have been quite the public tragedy, deserve a cookie. To her, she literally just got a cookie for trotting around with a lion on her back. Obvious win.
The next day when we get out the car to go to church, she actually requested "my backpack, mommy! Where's my backpack?" Who am I to deny the little explorer of her backpack?
In my previous post, I said Do what works for your family. I believe that it’s great for mine. She loves her backpack, especially when we are in places with a lot of people. Her sense of safety is obviously displayed, and I’m put at ease that she has some freedom, in a contained space at the end of my wrist.
