Here comes another stupid parenting moment. I get dumber by the day, I swear.
I thought it was a terrific idea (do all my posts start this way?) to take both children to the mall.
When the youngest was 6 weeks old.
During the Christmas shopping rush.
In the evening, when all the nutty after work gotta-buy-something-that-not-even-a-starving-child-in-Africa-would-like suburban Christmas shoppers are at their most crazed peak.
And by the way, we forgot to bring one of those baby carriers that all the used-to-be-cool young parents wear, all shred of dignity finally relinquished as we walk begrudgingly down the aisles hoping maybe the cool kids will think baby wearing is a new fashion statement, like Flavor Flav’s clock necklace.
We also forgot the doubles attachment for our other fashion statement, the ultra-cool Phil and Ted’s double stroller (not to be confused with Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, though I’m pretty sure Keanu Reeves could use an adult stroller to relax in while he gets high).
But we are over confident parents of two, and we keep trying to convince ourselves that we are really good at this parenting thing. When we’ve had a couple of glasses of wine and the kids are in bed (while we watch Antiques Roadshow, because we’re cool like that) we are especially confident about this.
So we decide to let one parent shop while the other stays at the kid’s play area with two children.
Let me just skip to the punch line, because this post is getting long and you can probably guess what is coming.
You’ve seen those bug-eyed lunatic moms pinning their helpless innocent children to the wall right out in the middle of a crowded public place while screaming something pointless that clearly isn’t helping, like “If you don’t stop it right now I’m going to find your Daddy, leave you with him, and go have myself a stiff drink, you hear me you little runt?” You know those horrible moms, right?
Well that wasn’t me. I handled the not listening and running off down the crowded mall aisle while I high-tail it after you as fast as I can [given my post baby girth and the constant tripping on the floor length giant sweater thing I wear to cover my fat] with my newborn baby dangling off one arm wailing with the grace and ease of Mary Poppins.