When Did I Become THAT Mom?

A few weeks ago, before the sickness roosted in my home, I was at the grocery with The Conqueror. That is always a scary experience because the kid is unpredictable. Some days it goes off without a hitch. Others, well, I run cowering from the store clutching my screaming boy.

So, going to the grocery has become Operation Get It Done Quick. My husband typically goes to the store alone because, well, he cooks and I reheat. So...it makes good sense for him to do the shopping. For some reason, though, this day we went together. And took the boy.

So, things were going well. We got cocky. We had been through the entire store (at Mach speed, mind you) and were left only in the cold section (milk, eggs, cheese, etc.). We slowed down. Big mistake, as you probably guessed.

At first, the kid was just whimpering a little as we debated on what brand of butter. As we perused the yogurt section for just a little too long, his whining increased by several decibels. Then he began full out screaming. He wanted out of that cart and NOW!

Well, I may be dumb but I ain't stupid and there was no way that wild child was being let down in the middle of a grocery store because, well, I have to go back there. So, I start offering him anything (ANYTHING!!) to shut him up because I hate, hate, hate being that person in the store with the wailing kid.

What does he want? A yogurt cup. Fine. Phew, crisis averted. Until the little rat gnaws through the foil lid and is trying to drink the yogurt. I take it away.

He screams as if I have just cut one of his digits off.

With a dull knife.

I give him back the yogurt.

He is happy. For a sec.

Then he starts shouting "Yum, yummmy!"

So, what do I do? I dig into my diaper bag and get a spoon. I proceed to stand in the middle of the grocery store and feed my child an unpaid-for Dannon.

I am so THAT mom.

(And, yes, I did pay for the yogurt that he ate.)