I Am Mommy; Hear Me Roar

After forty-five minutes of asking, pleading, coaxing, yes, even begging, A to take a nap, I finally give up. So, at four in the afternoon, I am seized by a momentary loss of sensibilities and decide instead to take my hungry, un-napped child to the grocery store. I thought nap time had been a struggle; little did I know, the produce section is where the real battle was to begin, an epic battle of wills.

Of course, on the way into the store, I might have casually mentioned to A that she should not be surprised if we happened to stroll by the cookie counter and find that mommy's free cookie card has decided to jump out of her wallet. In my mind, I am fantasizing about how the cookie will insure her angelic behavior and get us out of the store unscathed. In reality, I walk into the grocery and choose the one buggy with the strap that refuses to buckle.

In the split second it takes A to realize that mommy is struggling with said buckle, she is standing in the front of the cart demanding to get out and walk. "No, A," I coax. "Mommy really needs you to sit nicely in the cart and help her find the pearl onions." (Whatever those are??) She begins to scream like I've just taken away her favorite toy then proceeds to kick her legs so that it is impossible to strap her into the cart. "A," I whisper with urgency. Finally, I manage, without having to earn my engineering degree, to get the buckle fastened, and we are off. Score one point for mommy.

Meanwhile, A is still screaming. People are beginning to stare. I am pushing the cart, smiling, as though nothing is wrong. People are now looking at me like "do you not hear her screaming?" "No," my smile says, and if I do hear her, I refuse to acknowledge it. It is part of the battle plan. Never show fear. I can only imagine how we must appear: smiling mommy, humming, looking at her list, pushing adorable, blonde, screaming banshee. "A," I say, using my trump card, "if you stop screaming, mommy will get you that cookie." I did promise the cookie after all, but how do I explain to the clerk why I am buying a treat for my daughter who is in the throes of misbehavior?

A gets choked from screaming and begins to cough. An elderly lady in the frozen foods aisle glares at me with a look that says, "how could you? That poor girl is choking." Swayed by the pressure, I almost give in and pick her up out of the cart, but if I do then from now on, I must give in to her demands. The precedent will have been set, so I choose to stand strong. Instead I pat her on the back and in the moment of silence, pretend the cart is a car. "Vrooom," I shout, while pushing the cart around the store. Finally, a laugh from the peanut gallery! Point number two for mommy.

A's tear stained grimace is now a giggle as we rush from aisle to aisle finishing up my list (yes, I am still pretending to be a car). Our last stop is the cookie counter, where my once screaming baby is now a beaming angel. I give her the cookie and find a near-empty check-out line.
"She sure was letting you have it," says the clerk as I unload the cart.
"Oh, that wasn't my baby," I say.
"She looks like the little girl that was kicking and screaming when you were putting her in the cart."
"Not my girl," I say, while watching her wave sweetly to the check-out clerk. I let the clerk stare a moment before finally fessing up.
"Look at her, now, though." A is sitting strapped into her buggy, perfectly content.

I walk out of the grocery store, making sure that I have put on my sunglasses and began to dig in my purse for a baseball cap. I steal a bite of cookie from A and give her a high five in celebration of my victory. Next battle, car seat!