Give me groceries, or give me death

I've written in a previous entry about the trauma and drama I've endured in the course of grocery shopping with my daughter. She is two and some days her two-ness gets a little overwhelming.

It's gotten to where I wait until we are subsisting on stale Wheat Thins and expired milk before I will go to the grocery store now. I get off work a couple hours before P does, so it only makes sense that I head to the store after work. This means that I do have to take the kid.

Yesterday's shopping trip was almost as bad as this one, minus the pierced-bag-of-sugar incident. A had been in the cart for .039 seconds when I heard, "Where's the toys?" I resolved to stay out of the toy department if at all possible. That type of excursion never ends well. I brought her Doodle Pro into the store and suggested that she draw some stuff. That lasted less than five minutes.

I needed shampoo and conditioner and soon found myself in an overcrowded aisle with other local residents in need of haircare products. As I was searching for something to make my three strands of hair look like three thousand, A plucked a styling product off the shelf and tried to toss it into the cart. Because this product was for, um, people of color, there was zero chance of anyone in our household needing it. I put it back on the shelf and handed her a fruit snack pack that I had brought along. I had hoped to make it to pet supplies before pulling it out, but c'est la vie.

Then I felt a little rumble in my stomach. I had eaten a Fiber One bar earlier in the day and apparently my innards had noticed. A rumbly in my tumbly, if you will. A small bubble made its way out and for a second I almost thought I got away with it. But then I saw the look on her face and knew that my precious daughter was going to nail me to the wall. "MAMA, ARE YOU BURP?" she asked. "No, shhhh." I replied. Then, "MAMA, ARE YOU FART?" Oh, geez. (And yes, she gets "did" and "are" mixed up but give her a break - she's two.) "Eat your fruit snack," I implored as I pushed the cart over to the vitamin section as fast as I could.

After several tantrums (from her) and some exaggerated threats (from me), we made it out of the store once again. Later that evening, my baby sister called. She complained that she, too, had had a rough trip to the store with her kid. My nephew is four weeks old.

"Um, did he stand up in the cart and yell, 'wanna get out!'?"
"No."
"Oh, okay, did he throw items back out of the cart as fast as you put them in?"
"No."
"And did he put stuff in your cart that you can't possibly use and demand that you buy it anyway?"
"No."
"Well, alrighty then."

My nephew's main complaint is that he wants my sister's boob in his mouth at all times. He gained two pounds in two weeks. I told my sister that she is going to have a third grader by the end of the first year. But anyway, she ain't seen nothin' yet. Her day is coming. [insert evil laughter here]

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