When I was growing up, my mom used to make a killer Mexican chili and referred to it as "taco pie crapola". I never understood why anyone would want to associate something so delicious with something so repulsive, but that's just how it was, so that's what we called it.
We had some friends over on Wednesday
to watch Big Brother to have dinner, so I decided to make afore-mentioned chili. So off to the grocery store baby girl and I went to gather the ingredients.
I used to love going to the store with Avery. It was my relaxation time. Time to get my bored child out of the house, not to mention she would behave so well in response to the pretty lights and overwhelmingness of the rows of food. People would comment on my adorable tot and I would stroll slowly and comfortably through the aisles, in an attempt to prolong my grocery vacation.
Unfortunately, like all other unenjoyable eras o' Avery, they end without warning. Now, the store scares me. Before we head out, I have to mentally brace myself for the possibility, and frankly, definite likelihood of multiple tantrums in response to shopping cart buckle confinement. I have to prepare to accept that she will demand a CARt, not like she sits in it, but, rather, will noisily bounce in and out while snatching bananas and cookies and english muffins, while I ram the ginormous germ-mobile into displays of soup. I know that she will want 400 plastic produce bags and she will want them over her head. There will be a lot of stress and embarrassment and a lot of me crying in my car after the last of my strength has been depleted by trying to force a kid who is stronger than me to sit in a car seat when she wants to sit in the driver's seat and pretend to drive home. Then she will yell for daddy when strap her in (hate that part the most).
I digress. This particular time at the store, I pumped myself up for the trip, and even convinced myself that my positive attitude would result in a positive experience. So I got there, chased Avery through the aisles, fought (and lost) Avery for possession of an onion, and finally, FINALLY, dragged her to the checkout. I decided it was necessary for Avery to sit in the cart at this point because I needed her to be still while I fumbled through my purse to try to find the debit card I can never find to pay for groceries. And, to my surprise, she was completely still and limp as I picked her up. I grabbed her from underneath to sit her down in the cart, and realized her butt was soaked. This is the point when panic began to set in. "Not possible," I thought as I reminisced about how I had JUST changed her diaper before the outing.
This is the moment, I'm sure, when my face drained of color and my eyes bulged, and I decided to wave my dampened hand in front of my nose just in case, "worse case scenario" had actually just happened.
Everywhere. All over me. All over Avery. All over shopping cart.
I forced myself into actress mode, smiled at the check out, asked a question about a discontinued product and calmly paid for my groceries with my good hand, while I hid my poo-covered hand behind my back, and casually got the eff out of there.
"Don't look back, don't look up, keep moving," I said to myself over and over as I wheeled my crap-soaked self and child to my car.
I opened the truck of my car and a very kind, oblivious worker spotted the pregnant hot mess with a toddler unloading her groceries and probably thought to himself, "gee golly, she looks like she could use some help." Which, on any other day, would have been lovely, but, today, I happened to be covered in shit. The terror on my face when he came to help must have forced him to assume I was hiding a dead body in my car, if the smell already hadn't. I wide-eyed and silently pointed to the heaviest object for him to heave into the back, in an attempt to keep him busy the longest while I picked up Avery in the most awkward way a baby has ever been picked up, and walked backwards to her car seat, which also looked bizarre. Poor guy must have thought I was nuts.
Freaked out grocery boy left, we booked it home, I cleaned off the kid and myself, and made the chili, in the process giving "taco pie crapola" a whole new meaning.
It will just never be the same.
Anyway, I better include a picture in case I haven't lost you all already.
Here is how pacifier weaning is going: