It's always good to get in early on these link-ups, but whatever. I've been typing away furiously during the kids' nap time just so as not to miss the boat on this one. Hence the lack of a 'fuck' filter. If you are in anyway offended by the over-usage of the word fuck navigate the F*** away now.
|This image has absolutely nothing to do with my post, |
except for the grocery store theme. L-boy is sporting
his very first shoplifted (whoops!) woolly hat. Aww, bless.
I went to the grocery store the other day, and - not feeling quite up to our usual family day at HEB outing, I dropped all three boys (and that includes Daddy) off at good old Mackie-Dees while me and the wee nipper had some girly time.
This started off great. She slept like a baby, so basically it was just ME hitting the 'aisles' and my shopping trolley (which just so happened to be holding the cutest baby girl there ever was).
Not one woman passed by without sticking her face into the car seat and coochy-cooing at my SLEEPING girl.
WTF people? Doesn't anyone else know the golden rule?
DON'T. WAKE. THE BABY!
Even the men were 'Oooohin' and 'Aaahin!' and leaning in, crossing the invisible germ safety barrier.
Dammit. I knew I should've canary'ed her (It IS a verb. Daddy made it up - and it means put a blanket over the car seat - look out for it in the 'Urban' dictionary 2013 edition!)
It was Christmas eve after all, and everybody was suffering from that rare disease; "I want to smile and say hello to every passing stranger in the grocery store."
Admittedly it was infectious and soon I had bantered with an old man over sweet potatoes, giggled naughtily with an old lady beside the beer freezers, and by the time we reached the check-out line I was chattering away with anybody who'd have me, like we were all friends of old.
It had been a super date with Little Miss D, who had woken up by the bagels. I'd kept her happy singing Santa Clause is Coming to Town and zooming up and down dangerously faster than what was appropriate in the meld of last minute shoppers - admittedly I did crash into one of those motorized shopping buggies (Oops).
Fortunately my little angel's face saved me from (what could have been, at worst, a handbag battering, but on Christmas Eve) a tongue lashing. Seriously - if you want to get away with bloody murder, take a baby with you (sidenote: it must be a cute baby)
There were three families in our checkout line, and it was taking FOR-EV-ER. but nobody cared; 'It was Christmas!'
The lady up front had the tiniest little alien nestled on her front, and I couldn't resist asking, laughingly (of course),
"Did you come straight from the hospital?"
Booyah! I successfully kicked off awesome checkout chit-chat and banter. I scored her life story (lucky me) and (even better) the life story of the older couple behind her.
It made the line more bearable. It was only after I was through the check-out and back at the minivan that I realized no one had asked ME anything.
Huh! Selfish bastards!
Anyway - it was an awesome Grocery date with D-girl, it couldn't have gone any better. Perhaps I should have checked my phone though.....
Daddy had bailed on Macki-Dees a little over half an hour ago and the kids were running amock in Target.
Feeling a little sheepish and under the gun, I hastily clicked her car-seat into the bucket and jumped in. I'm not stupid (debatable) - I knew she wasn't going to be happy about another consecutive car ride without being unbuckled since the last one...
She's a LOT like Momma. She lost her shit before I'd even pulled out out of the parking spot. That's when I noticed the little red LED petrol gauge was lit, and I thought.
"Bugger." Okay that's a lie. I think I actually said "Fuckety fuck fuck fuck!"
This really is no biggie. There's a gas station right there tagged onto the HEB parking lot. I'd be there in less than 30 seconds. Oh, but 30 seconds is agony with a baby screaming...
I considered pulling back into a parking bay and nursing her first.... but Daddy and the boys had been waiting for us in Target for God knows how long!
I considered crossing the dual carriageway to Target and nursing her over there...... but the petrol station was right here on THIS side of the road. The hubs would ask, "Why didn't you go while you was over there?"
Oh, man! I hate it when she cries. I hate it SOOO bad I never let it go on for more than the few seconds it takes to make her happy.
But the car makes her unhappy. All three of my newborn babies have hated the car. Go figure? I yearn for her first birthday so I can turn her front facing. Any trip exceeding 20 minutes inevitably results in multiple nursing and bouncing stops by the highway.
Thank the Lord for the minivan. It keeps my boys quiet (ish), when they are subjected to our unnecessary double the length car journeys..
On this day, Christmas Eve 2012, I decided she could wait just a few measly minutes - just this once (silly Momma). I pulled into the
For fuck's sake! All the bays accessible to my left-hand-side gas cap were taken. I circled quickly in an attempt to take one of the empty ones from the opposite side, and of course some opportunistic bastard beat me to it.
Now the other's were empty, so I circled again - and again I was thwarted by new arrivals at the pump!!
Dammit! I was here first!!! Couldn't they see I'd been waiting?
Baby girl had reached a never heard before wailing pitch, hence Momma's blood pressure was through the car roof. With blood pumping furiously through my brain and thumping loudly in my ears I couldn't think straight.
I gave up circling and settled on a line - behind two shameless queue-hopping SUVs. Funny how folk's 'goodwill' suddenly disappears when they're encased within a big metallic car shield. With the torrent of expletives gushing from sailor Momma's lips I was no exception!
With my free hand I fervently rattled some plastic keys in baby girl's face, while cursing the idiot up front who was taking donkey's years to key in his zip code. I was amazed he couldn't hear the trauma from within the minivan just yards behind him!
"No pressure - but hurry the FUCK up!" Of course I wouldn't have dared utter that with my windows open. We are in Texas after all...
I toyed with the idea of getting her out of the car, but she wanted my booby - desperately. Could I tandem nurse and pump petrol??
I wasn't game to try.
When it was finally my turn I soon figured out that the hold up with the payment machine wasn't solely user related, the keypad was acting up. You had to tap it reeeeaaaaaaaallllllyyyyyyyy slowly.
I messed up like four times. Baby-D was hysterical. I think tears of sadness and frustration were streaming down my cheeks.
Daddy and the boys had no idea where I was and I hadn't texted them back. It takes me like ten minutes to type a text out at the best of times, so I figured I'd see them before I even had a chance to send it. Plus texting and driving or texting and pumping gas are big NO NOs for me - safety first!
Finally her crying got the better of me. I abandoned ship. Surely I'd pumped enough gas by then to get us home in time for Christmas? I pulled the nozzle out in a flurry and watched in baffled horror as the side of the car got a gasoline wash down.
OMG! It took a second for me to realize I was supposed to release the clip first... stupid stupid Momma! I had gasoline back splash all over my hands and clothes, and I was standing in a gasoline puddle.
The HORROR! My mind's eye imagined first me, then the car, then the entire garage exploding in flames. I was going to make it onto the local News on Christmas Eve.
The gas attendant came out of her booth and I was shaking. I felt sure she was going to call the cops, then they'd call CPS. My babies would have to spend Christmas without their Mommy..
Baby D was still crying.
The lady smiled. "Don't worry about it!"
Seriously?? I grimaced at her apologetically and without further ado I jumped into the minivan. The gasoline fumes were intense. We made it safely across the road, although I'd been convinced that the ignition key would spark engulfing Momma in flames. It didn't happen.
Daddy and the boys were fine. There had been no need to rush after all.
I nursed baby girl outside Target and my head was spinning from the fumes. For fear of brain damage, we opened all the windows and doors letting the freezing cold air suffuse the car, but it couldn't rid the stench from my clothing.
On the drive home, baby girl was snoozing and the boys were laughing happily in the very back. Daddy was designated driver, since we figured he had the better chances of getting us home alive that night.
I sat in the back seat beside a now sleeping baby. It had been ten minutes total upset - but it had seemed like a lifetime to Momma. I giggled hysterically as I retold the story to the hubs.
In spite of his reassurance that all gas pump attendants had safety training for dealing with spillage caused by idiots like me, I was terrified that we'd turn the TV on when we got home and all regular viewing would be interrupted by Live Breaking News of the grocery stall and surrounding shops ablaze. I could already see police sketches and security camera footage of Momma's startled features playing on every channel.
"I think you're high on the gas fumes," is all he said.
I think he was right.