Back when I was child-free, I'd zip through the supermarket like a whirlwind—no list needed. From dairy to herbs, veggies to freezer, I'd hit the checkout sweat-free with a smile. Now, as a mom of two—a lively 2.5-year-old Thom and 2-month-old Roan—I'm still a force of nature, but it's a whole different game.
Thom's outgrown strollers and carts, deep in the 'I do it myself' phase. Roan, meanwhile, rides contentedly in his pram, snug in his blue jacket and green footmuff against the chilly autumn air.
Just recently, Thom wanted fresh air, so I combined it with a grocery run. Shoes on the right feet (thanks to his independence!), and off we went.
In the store, I spot Roan stirring—arms flailing, tension building. Tornado mode engaged. I fumble for my meticulously made list, but postpartum brain fog strikes again. Without writing it down, nothing gets done—and now I forget the lists too.
As I juggle recalling items, prying Thom from the candy aisle, and keeping the pram rolling to soothe Roan, an elderly woman eyes us and passes by.
Thom toddles on, and I power through until Roan's cries erupt just before checkout—muffler off, full wail with quivering lip. You know the scene.
Second child or not, a screaming baby in the supermarket always mortifies me. I unload onto the belt, soothing Roan as best I can. Thom, bless him, waits patiently like a champ.
Then she's back, the elderly woman.
'Ah, is she hungry?' I reply, 'No, he just nursed.' I hope that's the end, rushing to pack and tap my card.
'You should feed her before leaving home. I always did—no issues.'
Biting my tongue fails.
'Oh really? I haven't fed HIM all day!' I snap.
Outside, Roan quiets and dozes off. I discreetly adjust my nursing pads, take Thom's hand, and head home—sweaty, smile forgotten at checkout, but groceries secured. Victory.
