beautiful nightmare

This afternoon the sun was out, the breeze was cool and my daughter was running ahead of me and behind me and not hearing me as I yelled for her. The flowers were in the first fresh bloom of late spring as I trudged after my fleeing 5 year old, wearing my slip on clogs and my 2 year old on my back in a carrier. The delighted laughter of children playing met my ears as my eyes scanned the playground for my runaway and couldn't find her. I smelled the salty marine tang of the water in the air as I headed back down to the street and mentally rehearsed a defense to my spouse so he wouldn't kill me when I confessed I'd lost our first born.

"She took off! I swear! I went after her, calling, and she didn't listen. And then she was gone. I couldn't find her anywhere!" I pleaded as I looked into his bewildered grief. It's not my fault.
It's her fault. She's the one who's not coming. She's the one who's running off and not listening.
And she's five.
So it's my fault.
I catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the playground. I yell. Nothing. She runs down toward the school again. I think, 'She's not dead yet.' I head around to cut her off but she's gone again. I follow the circle around and back up to the playground - again - and there she is playing on the jungle gym.
Happily.
I'm calm, I think. Now I know that in the sun drenched spring afternoon, breathing in the soft warm air... I was numb.
I take her hand, and, in the gentle voice of the most evil villans, I tell her, "You are in soooooo much trouble."