Off Target

How difficult could a quick trip to Target be? Right? They even have an automated door! With 2 little ones in tow, all I have to do to enter is push the cart right up to the doorway, and voila! the door does the rest. Of course, that is after I put A's shoes back on, place C in the front carrier, and lift A out of her car seat and into the cart without her kicking her brother. That has become easier with practice. The real challenge begins once we enter the store. Let's just say on this trip it brought me to my knees.

My mom, A, C, and I enter the store on a mission to find a birthday present for A 's friend. Nana takes C and heads for the shoe aisle, while A and I dash to the toddler clothing. It is half-past naptime, and C's tummy will be rumbly in less than 20 minutes (shout out to Pooh!).

"Which dress should we get, Lucy?" I ask A . I present her with a black and white dress or a pink dress. "This one or that one?" I playfully hold them up one at a time, over and over.

"That one," she says pointing to the black one. "And this one for A ." She grabs the pink dress and hangs it on the cart.

"Who said you were getting a dress?" I ask while laughing.

"Pink for A and black for Lucy."

"Okay," I agree. "Let's find something else to go with the dress. How about a bow?"

My mom wanders over to us with C sleeping, but I know any minute he'll be gnawing on his fists. "Let's go to toys."

I stop to look at outdoor toys when A starts to climb out of the cart. "Hold you," she says draping her arms around my neck so suddenly I lose my balance.

"Not now, Pumpkin. Stand right here beside Mommy." I place her on the floor, where she immediately darts down the aisle toward the main door. "A !" I shout. C is safe with Nana, so I sprint after her, my heart in my stomach. What if I don't find her, and she begins to wander on her own? Or worse, what if she gets out to the parking lot?

I see her, blond hair bouncing, giggling uncontrollably while she darts in and out of aisles. "A , get back here now."

I sprint faster, finally catching up to her. We're running side-by-side, when I reach to grab her. She shoots in front of me and we collide. Bodies fly through the air. A hits her bottom-nice padded diaper breaks her fall (maybe there are benefits to not being potty trained). My body, on the other hand, decides to land with all its postpartum weight on my knees. A bounces. Mom thuds. "Ow." I whisper through deeply inhaled breath. I look over to A who clearly doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. She searches my face intently looking for some clue on how to react. All she sees at this point are grimaces and gasps for air.

When the initial pain stops, I look to my daughter and simply motion her to me. At this point, I'm not even concerned that I, in all my grown-up glory, have just taken a dive in front of all Target's mid-day shoppers. No, my focus is on my little escape artist. A cautiously walks over to me. "Help mommy up," I whisper. She hesitates. Most likely because I'm six times her size and the logisitics are too much for her 3 year-old brain to calculate. I manage to sit up, compose myself, and pulling her closer, calmly say, "We don't run from mommy. EVER. You and mommy could get hurt (as evidenced by my inability to walk). You could get lost or hit by a car or taken from mommy, daddy, and C ." I search for another more dramatic, frightening, serious calamity, but none comes. Plus, at this point, I'm trying not to cry or laugh.

With throbbing knee, I finally stand, take A by the hand, and march her back to the cart. On the way, a clerk has the nerve to ask if we need help finding anything. Does he not see my expression? "No, thank you," I nod, while thinking I found her. I lift A and put her back into the seat of the cart and buckle her in. To which she has the nerve to protest, "No buckle mommy. No buckle in." Did she not just see her mommy fly through the air, hit the floor, and not even raise her voice? Don't push it missy. I remain silent, while reminding myself that I am the one who decided to bring my unnapped toddler shopping. I push A back to the toddler section, where I grab a cute t-shirt for the remainder of Lucy's gift and walk to the check-out. My mom and C follow. We pay, leave, and I put A into her seat, remind myself she is exhausted, and stroke her hair. We head for home, and before I get half-way there I hear my little sprinter snoring in the back. I just smile and rub my aching knee.