Woodman's on a Saturday afternoon wasn't my best idea ever, but after living in the boonies for awhile, I've gotten soft. I forgot that there's a damn good reason I hadn't been in a supermarket on a weekend in ten years. (And that was PRE-bebe.) Supermarkets on weekends are hell. Hell. I worked in one for seven years for christ's sake. I know. Unfortunately, blinded by the promise of produce variety, organic meats and two whole health food aisles, I ran headlong into disaster, carting (quite literally) my 15 month old with me.
The first half hour was one of Max's finest. Flirting with strangers while mama deliberated over brussel sprouts and blood oranges, he was all smiles. Then squirrellyness, boredom, the presence of so many strangers, hunger and those flourescent lights (I read something once about how the lights in malls and supermarkets and big box stores have been proven to be disturbing to humans, particularly children, and the likely cause of many a public meltdown. Totally makes sense) combined in a shitstorm of "I want OUT! Hold me NOW!" which in 15 month old sounds like this: "EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMA!!!! MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! sob sob sob".
Lather, rinse, repeat. I placated him briefly with one of those vile foil squeezy packet things which ended up being shoved through the metal bars of the cart, squirting puree all over said cart and child. More screaming ensued. I was halfway done and not about to give up. If I lived somewhere other than an island, I would've ditched my cart and returned later, sans bebe. But alas.
Of course I left my babywearing wrap in the car (never entering a store again without it), so I picked him up, smearing myself with snot and pumpkin-colored puree, parked my cart at the end of the aisle, and dodged other shoppers, grabbing anything that looked appealing, dropping it back in the cart, hoping my purse doesn't get stolen, hoping my arm doesn't fall off, hoping Max doesn't start arching his back and wriggling, hoping I don't look like a lunatic (fat chance). Made it to the checkout lane. More screaming as I had to put him down to pay. We finally made it outside in the fresh air and sunshine and I put him down to walk along the pavement in front of the store while we waited for Dave to pick us up.
I'd like to say I'd kept my cool in the store, cuz I did, mostly. I certainly didn't get mad at Max. Don't blame him for freaking out. It was way more than a little one could handle and the fact he handled it with such aplomb for the first half hour is amazing. Like I said, I should've picked a less busy time to go and worn him instead of putting him in the cart. But it wasn't til I was outside I realized I was sweating buckets. So as I took deep breaths and followed behind my now-happily toddling, exploring (and by "exploring" I mean "picking up garbage on the ground and making sporadic breaks for the busy parking lot") child, a teenage boy pushing a cart, followed by his mom passed us. The woman smiled at Max and smiled at me. Her son called back to her, "You okay back there Mom?" to which she replied, "Yes, I just can't keep up with your long legs anymore" and then she smiled at me and Max again.
I wasn't imagining the wistful look on her face.
