Saturday babe and I headed off to get the weekly stash of food at the local supermarket. Any trip of this nature with a little person is always going to take twice as long as going solo. But the height of my frustration came from another source, one that clearly had ’I am a total selfish moron’ banded across their forehead. I could see it, I’m sure others could too
So what has inspired me to be so scathing, you maybe asking right now?
It was the giant 4×4 driver that parked next to me in the DEDICATED parent and child parking spot! As the whole 2.2 designer clad crew clambered out of the black Landrover beast, I peered over to check out the ages of the spoilt (come on they must be spoilt?) sprogs. There was no way either of them were anywhere near the age of 5!
The family followed me into the store and as we walked past the parent and child sign, I looked up, looked at the adults and looked sternly at the sign. I did this a couple of times in the hope they’d get the message. Alternatively they probably thought I was Nutter. Was I bothered, no!
Onwards we trundled as babe called out “num nums”
This is what she says to ask to be nursed. It also translates into ‘I’m hungry or thirsty mummy’. It was mid morning she was getting pekish so I made a bee line for the cheese counter – buy cheese and get kind lady to give the hungry toddler a chunk to shut her up. It works a treat. If I’m lucky, extra quick and the chunk is big enough, we can make it to the bread aisle to give babe the crust of the end of a French stick (to clarify – the one I’m about to buy) to last her through until we get home.
Toilet trips get in the way though
These are the new time sink in the weekly shop. We have to go at least twice! And usually she just walks in, looks around, shakes her head and says ‘no’. So I end up peeing to make myself feel better about the time spent meandering to the far end of the shop.
Then the tantrum breaks out
She wants to bite through and break into the bag of mozzarella cheese – this child is a cheese monster. This is not happening, so I prize it from her hands and little ‘toddler balling hell’ breaks loose. People who have long forgotten what it’s like to have a young child look on like I’m a bad mother. Others cast warming looks of sympathy, and I’m grateful to them.
We move on, babe helps load in the butter – not before dropping the block and turning it into a pyramid, but it tastes all the same to me.
All goes well until I make the mistake of walking past the pic-a-mix sweets section. Why do they have sweets that can be helped themselves to on floor level? They are asking for little slobbery fingers pounce and attack! I managed to grapple babe up into my arms and get her preoccupied with restacking the economy gravy granules, all neatly upside down.
Finally the paying and packing goes smoothly, now just to do the dreaded pack away when we get home.
Come share your children supermarket trials and 4×4 dislike here…you know you want to.