I’ve not really introduced you to my husband yet. He’s in this story, despite his wish to be cool and anonymous like Batman. He’s ex-military so we’re going to call him Sarge. So… meet Sarge.
I’ve changed. I’ve become the mother people hate. It’s gross.
This is how it happened:
My little mate has reached the age where he neeeeeds to be FREE. Straps are nothing to this wild spirit, and being carried simply means more opportunities for backflip practice.
My husband (Sarge) is all for the freedom.
“Let him be free,” he says.
Easier said than done my naive, optimistic friend. Easier. said. than. done.
We were at the craft shop one day when Thud expressed his need to be FREE. Luckily the Sarge was on hand to run interference.
I was happily wandering when I saw a tiny streak of a child fly past the end of the aisle with a squeal.
I followed a trail of destruction until I found Sarge on his hands and knees, scooping up thread, ribbon, yarn and paint and chucking it up on the shelf.
Thud had reached max wild.
I could’ve helped. I didn’t.
I stood there and laughed. “Welcome to my life daddy-o! This is me, all day, every day, suckeeerr!”
So he did what any normal* parent would do. He snapped up the child, put him in a wheelie shopping basket and started cutting sick laps around Lincraft while I sorted through yarn.
Boys were happy.
But then something odd happened.
We made our way to the front of the store. Sarge was strolling along at double time, wheeling his shopping basket behind him with just a pair of tiny hands and the top of a blonde head visible.
At the counter, Thud, sitting down low in his basket, started handing me my items so I could pay.
Now I’ll just stop here for a moment so you can picture this…. Are you seeing it? A small person. Inside a shopping basket. Handing my shopping to me. Can you even handle it?
Well apparently the shop assistant could. She didn’t bat an eyelid.
If I didn’t witness her clearly typing things into the computer and looking me directly in the eye, I would’ve thought she was blind or impaired in some way. She looked straight at my midget trolley-helper and didn’t even blink.
As we left, even Sarge (usually not all that concerned with what people think) said to me “that girl could have been a bit more impressed with Thud.”
You think!?! What kind of cold soul disregards a sight like that? I mean, does she think kittens and bunnies are boring too? What about a baby cuddling a bunny in the bottom of a shopping cart? While dressed up like a teddy bear? Carrying a cupcake?
Are you DEAD on the inside? You’re in the service industry. LIE. Pretend you give a shit.
Later that day, when I was STILL thinking about this, I realized, with horror, that I had become one of those women. One of those women who thinks the whole world should stop and worship their spectacular child.
“I made a CHILD! He’s AMAZING! Everybody look at MY CHILD!”
I’m so embarrassed for myself. I’m so sorry Lincraft lady. I’m sorry for thinking bad things about you because you didn’t drop everything and gush over the cuteness of the child in the basket.
Next I’ll be pushing him up on a stage and making him tap dance for coin.
Oh, dear…. Somebody stop me.
*not that normal.
Are you one of those mums? Am I going to get worse? HOW DO I STOP THIS??
If you liked this, make sure you head over to facebook and like The Thud so you’ll never miss a post!