Standing behind a young mum in the local Co-op recently, I watched with sympathy as she and her mother coped with two small ones hell-bent on escape. With display units of chocolates and the open road through the automatic doors, temptation beckoned at every angle.
Whilst the mother apologised profusely, and unnecessarily, to all around her I picked up dropped bags and loyalty cards for her as she and the grandmother juggled and struggled to contain the mini maelstrom about them. I well remember the feeling of helplessness myself and the certainty that the rest of the world's eyes are looking at you and wondering just how hopeless you can be at controlling your own offspring.
One of our children didn't do shopping. Let's face it, being wheeled about in a push-chair with visibility at adult knee-height wouldn't do it for me either. Supermarket shopping could be particularly hazardous as, although the child could be seated at trolley height, it is impossible to get up enough speed in a supermarket for the resident toddler to feel at least as though the parent is trying to get the whole shabang over and done with in good time.
On one particular occasion we entered the establishment in a relatively good mood; I threw fruit and veg into the trolley with reckless abandon, (no child finds buying potatoes and greens a thrill), and then turned into the chilled aisle.
The child felt it was time to protest. Quiet questions quickly turned to vocal squeals, then shaking of the trolley, (not by me!); reaching behind to grab at unsuspecting apples that could be lobbed as weapons, and when none of that worked, the toddler wriggled and twisted and suddenly stood triumphantly up in the trolley seat - Ta dah! A 'Look at what I've done' grin stretched across the face. The ultimate goal had been to get out of the trolley, and now the offspring was half-way there. For the next two aisles came a game of me seating the child back down and the little darling standing back up, becoming more and more adept at doing so as time went on; all accompanied by an ever-increasing crescendo of protest.
Come the cereals, I relented (one of the many mistakes!), and picked the child up, placed it on the floor and held on to one hand firmly. The vocal protests reached impressive levels, shame there weren't any Royal Opera House scouts out that day, until I eventually let go, momentarily, of the sweaty little fingers.
Magicians everywhere would have wondered at the ability of one small bundle to disappear with such alacrity. Scanning the aisle, I realised that my child was nowhere to be seen, so I ran to the end, turned the corner and looked down the next. Nothing. Until...I noticed that packets of nappies were 'popping' out onto the floor from the bottom shelf. Fairly sure that the supermarket didn't have resident poltergeist, I investigated further. I heard a giggle and called the child's name.
Clearly the store in question were low on stock as there was enough room for my child to crawl most of the way along the shelving behind the stock, pushing nappies out with astonishing speed as they went, until I skidded to a halt ahead of the offspring, pulled out two packets of Pampers and grabbed the little bundle of joy - but couldn't trust myself to speak. This bundle screamed at full volume for the entire time it took to check out (this does take longer if one is holding a determined 18month old under one arm). I nodded and smiled at the staff who came to help; and then exited the supermarket with the offspring hanging onto my coat tails and screeching as they slid along the linoleum floor, puce in the face and with vocal chords beginning to sound sore. Nothing I did was going to placate the child, so I walked slowly, for some reason calmly, and certainly without care, (or so I thought) until the exit; at which point I picked the child up, only to see a well meaning middle-aged woman approaching.
If she dares to say anything about my ability as a mother, I thought, I might have to punch, (and I thought I'd been calm). She didn't: she praised me for my calmness and chastised the child - and that was the last straw. We drove home in record time.
The child in question is quite good in supermarkets now!
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