To my dearest little strop-bucket,
Well, today was one heck of a day, wasn’t it? I think we’re both as exhausted as each other right now.
To be fair, I should have known better than to risk taking you to the supermarket. But there was nothing in the fridge and no online shopping slots available, and besides, I thought a trip round Tesco might be a nice little outing for us both.
Ha!
It was all going well at first. I’d even go as far as to say we were having fun. You were sitting in the toddler seat quite happily, dropping the packets into the trolley as I passed them to you, and practising your new words (‘Narna! Brapes! Abbal!’).
But then, somewhere around the bakery aisle, it all went wrong – and man, did it go wrong!
The signs were there; you started wriggling in the seat, whinging and holding your arms up to be lifted out. But foolishly, I ignored them, thinking that if I was quick, I could make it around the rest of the shop before you kicked off.
What an idiot!
Suddenly, you were in full-scale meltdown. Red-cheeked, open-mouthed, screeching, tearless meltdown. Oh my God, I have never seen anything like it!
I did those quick mummy calculations to see if I could work out what was wrong. Was it lunchtime? Naptime? No, on both counts.
Perhaps you were bored. Fair enough, grocery shopping is pretty boring. So I got you out of the trolley to see if a change of scene would calm you down.
Big mistake.
I must have been mad to think that you’d stop screaming and start walking nicely as soon as I set you free. Instead, you threw yourself face down on the floor and increased the volume by another 50 decibels or so.
My blood pressure was starting to rise. I knelt down beside you and rummaged through the changing bag; surely there was something in there that would divert your attention from whatever world-ending disaster was happening in your life.
But no. Breadsticks, books, dummy, cuddly toy – you literally threw them back in my face.
By now, we were attracting an audience – not surprising, given that you were drumming your heels into the ground and wailing loud enough to catch the attention of every social services department within a 20-mile radius.
I tried to ignore the stares I was getting from other smug mummies whose toddlers were cooing contentedly in their trolley seats, and concentrated instead on calming you down.
‘I know, poppet, you want to get out of this silly shop, don’t you?’ I soothed. ‘Shall we have a cuddle? Sing a song?’
You weren’t having any of it.
At this point, I was ready to walk away and pretend you weren’t even mine. Because what you didn’t know was that I was having a crappy day anyway.
I didn’t sleep well last night, and when I looked in the mirror this morning, I felt fat, frumpy and disgusting. My self-esteem is at rock bottom and I haven’t had a sensible adult conversation in days. In fact, part of the reason I took you to the supermarket was just to get us both out of the damned house.
That’s why, my precious little hellraiser, I said a bad word when you ramped the volume up a little bit further. And when some patronising old bat walked past me and muttered, ‘I wouldn’t have let any of mine behave like that,’ I lost it.
I know I shouldn’t have rammed you back into the seat with such force (although you didn’t help by making yourself as stiff as a board).
I shouldn’t have marched us straight to the till, my knuckles white from gripping the trolley handle so hard, and practically thrown what little shopping we’d managed at the checkout girl (she must have thought I was insane – and she’d have been right!).
I shouldn’t have had a tantrum of my own when we got back to the car. I’m supposed to be the adult around here; I shouldn’t have shouted at you to be quiet, slammed the door so hard it nearly fell off its hinges, and then put my head on the steering wheel and burst into tears.
Thankfully, your powers of forgiveness are just as good as your powers of stroppiness. When we got home, we had a big cuddle, a cup of tea (for me – a cup of milk for you) and then snuggled up on the sofa with a pile of your favourite books. Within half an hour or so, calm was restored and you seemed no worse the wear for your epic meltdown.
Now you’re tucked up in bed, snoring gently, it's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, you were going thermonuclear.
One day, you’ll decide to take your own unpredictable toddler to the supermarket, and just like me, you’ll experience the excruciating embarrassment and utter powerlessness of watching your child throw the world’s biggest wobbly in the middle of the biscuit aisle.
Until then, please know that I’m sorry if I didn’t react in the way you needed – and that even though I get it wrong sometimes, I love you more than life itself.
And from now on, we’ll shop online, okay?
Lots of love,
Mummy xxx
