Jakey has been a grabber since day one.

As he rounds out his second year, the grabbing has intensified and his wingspan is much longer. The boy has orangutan arms and tentacles for fingers. All that he can reach he touches.

Which brings us to our short detour on the way home from daycare last week.

I’m trying to cut back on these detours… I have cut back.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still swing by 7-Eleven to pick up an ice cold Slurpee from time to time. I know this level of refreshment is an indulgence.

That day, I nabbed the boy early from daycare and took a swing by The Sev on our way home to play.

There are a limited number of ways I can carry a 32 ½ pound toddler and a Slurpee at the same time. The most comfortable ways involve the use of both my arms to support him and inadvertently place the drink at about Jakey’s waist level.

His reaction is predictable and unrelenting. Like a dog or grizzly bear snapping into action when their chase response is activated, his eyes lock on the fluorescent orange straw and his hand is closing around it and pulling before I can even ask him not to. I try my best to maintain my hold on both boy and drink while prizing his hand free of the straw.

Two, three, four times in quick succession he darts his arm out and grabs the straw before I can circle the collective parenting wagons and respond in some way other than, “Don’t… hey… stop… Buddy…”

Each time I see his dirty mitt shoot out like a striking cobra and encircle my straw I have a flash of the dusty boy I just picked up from amongst his snotty, dirty, coughing (darling) friends in the play yard at daycare and wonder how many other little kid cooties are now on my straw. I have come to terms with sharing all my little man’s germs, but if I could avoid a few from the other wee ones, well…

Fast forward several days and I landed on much better solution than any particular way of holding Jakey and a beverage at the same time. He landed on it, really. I just listened to him for once.

Give him his own straw.

I got orange (go team!) and Jakey got green. By the time we made it to the car and my Slurpee was safely out of his reach on the roof, he was requesting that I help him get the straw out of its wrapper. Mission accomplished.

Slurpee straws are really just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to things Jakey grabs without a second thought.

Kitten’s tail.

Mom’s necklaces and earrings.

Lips.

Noses.

The soft, sensitive skin across the front of my throat that protects my jugular and other important parts of my neck.

Kitten’s hind leg.

Knives from the counter (how is he that tall?!?).

Nipples (careful, if they’re exposed, he might grab them).

Glassware.

Tablecloths.

Night lights.

Lightbulbs.

Sharpies.

Kitten’s fur.

We’re barely scratching the surface here, folks. If it’s remotely graspable, you know what’s gonna happen. I get to the point with this kid where I can sense it coming. It’s a high-speed risk assessment you perform at a near subconscious level when you walk into a new environment.

Hazards, attractive nuisances, a whole checklist of likelies—all possible ways he can hurt himself or rack up a large damage bill.

Problem is, there’s a difference between seeing something coming and preventing it. He’s quick.

And another difference still between being able to prevent something and having the wisdom to know whether or not you should.

He needs to explore. It’s imperative he discovers, feels, and learns about his world. There will be bumps and scrapes. Broken trucks, plates, glasses, laundry baskets, house plants, and boxed brownies.

It’s imperative he has this in his life.

And yes, it’s imperative he grabs stuff.