Tricia Oakes is a wanderlusting, foodie, Anglophile who loves the Real Housewives and swim up bars. She lives just outside of Charlotte in Fort Mill, South Carolina, and is a known sassy mouth. Find her blogging at Southern Spark.
When my husband and I were still dating and starting to talk about getting married and how much fun having kids would be, we unknowingly saw our future in Target. Walking through the wide main aisle near the health and beauty section, we spotted an approximately three-year-old boy several rows up. He was standing beside an end cap precariously stacked with multiple boxes of tampons. His mother warned, “Don’t touch them. DO NOT.” He turned to look at her, smiled impishly, and knocked the entire display to the floor.
My husband and I laughed uproariously. As we came closer, she screamed at us, “DON’T. EVER. HAVE ANY!”
Now that I have my own six and three-year-old boys, I think of that mother often. When I’m barreling through crowds chasing my own kids, whom I often liken to drunk zombies, I wonder what that mom is doing now that her child is probably closer to a driver’s license than a tricycle.
I wonder if letting him go out with friends, drive, or have girlfriends he likes better than her will be worse than taking my three-year-old to his first movie as I did last weekend. The first 20 minutes were perfect, and I thought, “Oh! Maybe we’ve been released from Baby Jail! We can go out in public on occasion without him acting a fool and making it generally miserable.”
Turns out I was just on work release from Baby Jail. After sitting nicely in his seat for a bit, he insisted on lying on the steps of the very crowded theater beside my aisle seat. He punctuated his reposes by standing up, straining, and screaming, “I’M POOPING!”
Thankfully, he’s still in diapers. The potty training thing hasn’t gone well so far, and he clearly needs more fiber in his diet. I suppose it could have been worse. He could have been knocking down a million boxes of tampons.