Are Toddler Leashes OK When Slower Grandparents Are Out With Speedy Toddlers?
The blueberry scone was still oozing jam when my 2-year-old son Milo wiggled out of my mom’s hand and took off toward the main street at our town’s weekly farmers market. Mom, who’s had two knee replacements and can’t walk more than a mile without stopping, grabbed the side of our wooden picnic table and sucked in a sharp breath. I was 10 feet away paying the vendor, and by the time I caught Milo, he’d already knocked over a stack of peaches that went rolling into the clover patch.
After we apologized and stuffed a $5 bill in the farmer’s tip jar, we sat down to catch our breath. That’s when Mom brought it up: her friend Linda uses a toddler leash when she takes her grandson to the zoo, and she’d been thinking we should try one for when she takes Milo out alone.
I’ll admit it: I’d always side-eyed toddler leashes before that day. I’d seen them at the mall and thought, Why can’t they just hold their kid’s hand? I bought into the idea that leashes were for caregivers who didn’t want to bother teaching their kids to stay close. But sitting there, watching Mom rub her knee while Milo crammed a chunk of scone in his mouth, I realized I’d never thought about what it’s like to be the slower person chasing a toddler.
We ordered a dinosaur-themed leash off Amazon that night—neon green, with a soft tail Milo could carry around. Two weeks later, we all headed to the local botanical garden, Mom’s favorite spring spot, to test it out. Mom adjusted the strap around Milo’s chest three times in the first five minutes, her hands a little shaky. “What if someone thinks I’m weird?” she whispered to me as Milo tugged toward the tulip beds.
Sure enough, a woman in a straw hat walking a golden retriever gave us a long, slow look as we passed. Mom just shrugged and turned to watch Milo point at a bumblebee. “Better I look weird than break my hip chasing him across a parking lot,” she said, and I had to laugh. That was the first time I stopped thinking about what other people might think, too.
Milo ran ten feet ahead, stopped to dig at an ant hill, ran another ten feet, stopped to stare at a squirrel. For the first time ever, Mom didn’t have to hurry to catch him. She could walk at her own pace, stop to admire the daffodils when she wanted, sit on a bench for five minutes to rest her knees while Milo explored the nearby grass, safely within arm’s reach. No huffing, no worrying that he’d dart out into the road before she could get to him.
The more I thought about it after that day, the more I realized how most conversations about toddler leashes skip this whole scenario. We talk about whether they’re bad for development, or whether they’re embarrassing, but we don’t talk about what the alternative is for grandparents who move slower. The alternative isn’t just “hold their hand more.” It’s grandparents turning down outings because they’re scared they’ll fall, or that they’ll lose the kid. It’s toddlers missing out on one-on-one time with the people who love them most, because their little legs are faster than their grandparents’ knees.
Toddlers are supposed to be speedy, anyway. That’s not bad behavior—that’s just what they do at this age. Their brains are wired to run toward anything interesting, they haven’t figured out impulse control yet, they forget the “stay close” rule 10 seconds after you say it. That’s just how they grow, not something you can fix with a firm talking to before you leave the house. So a leash isn’t a punishment, and it’s not a replacement for teaching rules. It’s just a safety net that lets everyone do what they want.
We’ve worked out a few small things that make it work really well for us. First, we let Milo pick out the leash himself. He picked the dinosaur because he’s obsessed with dinosaurs right now, so he actually gets excited to wear it, instead of fighting it. Second, we’re clear about when it comes off: it stays on any time we’re near roads or parking lots, or in crowded places like the market, and it comes off when we get to the big open playground where there’s no traffic. Milo knows the rule now, and he doesn’t argue. Third, Mom always talks to him when he tugs somewhere he shouldn’t go, instead of just yanking him back. If he tries to run for the street, she’ll say “That’s a road, cars go fast there, we need to stay by me” so he’s still learning the rule, the leash just keeps him safe until he remembers it consistently.
Last week, Mom took Milo to the park by himself for the first time in almost a year. She sent me a photo an hour later: Milo was on the swings, the dinosaur leash was unhooked and draped over the bench next to her, and she was eating a cherry popsicle, grinning at the camera. She told me he only tried to run once, toward the parking lot, and she just pulled him gently back and reminded him of the rule, no rushing, no panicking.
We still have off days. Sometimes Milo decides he hates the leash and screams the whole time we put it on, so we just stay home and color instead. Sometimes we get that side eye from someone at the grocery store, and I still feel a little flicker of embarrassment before I remember why we’re doing this. It’s not a perfect solution, and I don’t think it’s the right fit for every family. But for us, right now, it works. It lets my mom be the grandma she wants to be, and it lets Milo be the speedy, curious 2-year-old he is. That’s more than enough for us.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Are Toddler Leashes OK When Slower Grandparents Are Out With Speedy Toddlers