Am I the only one who wonders, on a regular basis, if I am cut out for this Mommy gig?
J and I went to Polaris today to pick out a birthday gift for Auntie Naomi. While Jack is all about endless laps around the perimeter of the mall, as soon as we actually enter a store, the shrieking begins. I can't blame him, he is a man after all and shopping is not in his genes. Do MOGs have it any better, I wonder? Do girls sit quietly in their strollers while pondering the endless outfit combinations at Banana Republic? But I digress...
After quickly deciding that a gift certificate was going to have to do, I bravely - in hindsight we'll edit that to insanely - headed to the food court. I have noticed lately that I eat like a homeless person. While trying to feed or entertain J, I stuff whatever is in front of me in my face as if I haven't seen food in weeks and may never, in fact, see it again. This from a gal that, because I am "fluffy, " used to take great pains to eat daintily and in small portions so that people around me would gasp and wonder aloud "Why, how did she get to be so large? She eats so little and with such good manners?" Now I just have the crazed look of a woman who would like to devour 3 bites of gyro while it is still just a little warm. Needless to say, the shrieking continued at the food court.
We completely bypassed the germ pit. There were way too many kids in there today and J was already 9/10 of the way to Meltdown Mode, so why add that last tenth? On our way to the car, I passed many other mommies. I looked at them. I watched them. I searched for any sign that they, too, were questioning if they might not be cut out for this.
The mother of three who sat nursing on a bench in the middle of the mall had a far away look in her eye, but I have seen the look on many nursing moms. I think that is Milk Bliss. Speed Walk Mom seemed content to barrel through the crowd and shed the pounds, her toddler happily munching Goldfish crackers (whole grain, I'm sure). Other mommies in the germ pit were either watching their kids play or playing right along with them or making sure they weren't being assaulted by the kids whose moms were reading.
None of them seemed to have the bags under their eyes that they could feel. None of them seemed to be struggling to be putting one foot in front of the other. Not one of them seemed to want to plead with heir child "Please if you are just quiet for 5 more minutes Mommy swears she will not go ballistic and have her own meltdown right here in the mall."
Inevitably, once the cool breeze of freedom hit J's face in the parking lot, he was fine. Dude just does not like to shop. It is my fault for trying to make a shopper out of him. So as he giggled and danced in the back seat on the way home, I regrouped. Maybe I am cut out for the Mommy gig. Maybe it's the shopper role I'd better rethink :)