Are Toddler Leashes Okay for Speedy Toddlers Out With Slower Grandparents?
The gravel crunched under our boots last September when I watched my two-year-old Leo bolt straight for the orchard’s road edge, my mom 20 yards behind him, one hand clamped to her replacement knee, the other still holding the half-empty bag of cider donuts we’d bought at the entrance. She couldn’t run. Even a fast walk sends a sharp pain up her leg that leaves her limping for days. By the time I grabbed Leo’s hoodie and pulled him back to the path, my mom was pale, and she didn’t say anything for 10 minutes, just picked at her donut. On the drive home, she brought it up quiet: Maybe we should get one of those leashes. For when I take him to the park by myself.
I’d always side-eyed toddler leashes before that. Saw a mom at the zoo with one a year before and thought, why can’t she just keep an eye on her kid? Figured it was for people who’d rather scroll their phones than pay attention. But I also knew how much that weekly park trip with grandma meant to both of them. Leo talks about the slide grandma pushes him on for hours after he gets home. My mom calls me the second she walks in the door to tell me every silly thing he did that day. The alternative to a leash wasn’t “better parenting” — it was my mom stopping those outings entirely, because she was too scared she’d let him get hurt. That’s a trade-off no one talks about much, when you’re reading all the parenting hot takes on what’s okay and what’s not.
We ordered one that night: a little dinosaur harness with a tiny pocket for a pack of goldfish crackers, a 3-foot fixed-length leash, no retractable nonsense because I’d heard too many stories of tangles and runaway toddlers getting all the way to a street before someone could react. The first trip to the park, I hung back on a bench to see how it would go. Leo took off after a squirrel immediately, the leash went tight for half a second, my mom gave a gentle tug, and said, “Whoa, buddy, that way is the street, remember?” He veered back toward the playground, kept running, didn’t even throw a fit. I was shocked. I thought he’d hate being tied to someone, but 90% of the time the leash was loose, dragging on the ground behind him. It was just a safety net, not a restraint.
A week later, an older woman at the park stopped next to my mom and said, “Isn’t that awful for him? Leashing him like a dog.” My mom just shrugged and said, “My knee can’t run. This way I can still bring him here. He gets to run, I get to visit with him. Works for us.” The woman didn’t say anything else, and that was that.
I’ve thought a lot about that exchange since, and what this whole thing has taught me about toddler development and family dynamics. Leo isn’t being naughty when he bolts. He’s two. His whole job right now is testing out how fast his legs can go, exploring every corner of the world, checking out what’s over that next fence. He doesn’t have the impulse control yet to remember “street is bad” when he sees a really cool monarch butterfly. If my mom can’t run after him, what’s the other option? Hold his hand the whole time. That means he can’t run, can’t explore, gets cranky, and my mom gets sore. Or stick him in the stroller the whole time, which he hates, because he wants to be moving. Or don’t go at all. Which means he loses that time with his grandma, and she loses that time with him. That’s way worse than a little harness, if you ask me.
Last month, my parents took Leo to the zoo. They haven’t done a big outing like that in over a year, because they were too nervous about him running off. With the leash, they went. They walked at their own slow pace, stopped to sit on the benches when my mom’s knee hurt, Leo ran 10 feet ahead, stopped to look at the giraffes, waited for them to catch up. They sent me a photo of Leo feeding a goat at the petting zoo, leash loose around my dad’s wrist, all three of them grinning. That’s a photo we wouldn’t have if we’d decided leashes are bad. My dad has bad asthma, he can’t sprint after a toddler either, and that day didn’t leave him winded or scared. It just left him with a good memory.
A few small things we’ve learned that work, if you’re weighing this for your own family. First, definitely skip the retractable leashes. They’re too long, they tangle around playground poles and bench legs, and if a toddler bolts the full 10 feet before you can react, they can get to the street before you pull them back. A 3 or 4 foot fixed length is perfect, gives them enough room to explore, keeps them close enough to adjust. Second, get a chest harness, not a wrist tether that connects your wrist to theirs. Tugging on a small wrist can hurt a toddler, and if they pull hard, you can get yanked off balance too. The harness distributes the pull across their chest, it’s way more comfortable for everyone. Third, if you’re self-conscious about people staring, get one that looks like a little backpack. Ours is a dinosaur, most people just think it’s a cute little bag he’s wearing, they don’t even notice the leash clips on the back.
It’s not a perfect solution. Sometimes Leo gets the leash wrapped around a tree trunk, and my mom has to hobble over to untangle him. Sometimes people still side-eye us when we walk through the grocery store with it. But right now, it works. My parents don’t have to sit on the couch just because their bodies can’t keep up with a toddler’s energy. Leo doesn’t have to miss out on running around the park, picking apples, or feeding goats just because his grandparents move slower than he does. There’s a lot of unwritten rules about what good parenting looks like, but most of them don’t account for how real families actually work. For us, this is one rule we’re fine breaking. It works. That’s enough for now.
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