Way Off Target
Breaking News: Mother Carries Screaming Toddler from Store, Shoppers Cower in Horror, Covering Their Ears
In retrospect, it was probably a dumb parenting choice, and yet, also unavoidable.1
We were on our way home after an activities-packed, four-day vacation with cousins. Exhausted and in need of a bathroom/nursing/leg-stretching break, we pulled off at a Target around 8pm. The kids had been a bit squirrelly after their late naps in the van, but we’d plied them with healthy no-sugar snacks and Paw Patrol to keep going.
We just needed to get home. We were less than two hours away.
My husband shepherded our older two kids into Mommy Mecca. I stayed in the van to breastfeed our youngest before joining him ten minutes later. Noticing a sale on home goods, I found a new bath rug (ours was in shambles) while our kids ran laps around my husband.
And then it happened.
My middle child decided he didn’t want to return to the van. Instead of turning around at the end of the aisle he’d been running down, he whipped around the corner. My husband dashed off after him. After a couple of minutes, I heard wailing and gnashing of teeth and followed to sound to find my son (who naturally has a dense, husky build) flailing to escape his father’s arms. When he saw me, my son bucked out of my husband’s grasp, nearly getting away again.
His failure to launch escalated his screaming. My son has lungs that belong on an opera singer. Who knows. In an alternate timeline maybe he’s already in training for such a career.
But I digress.
A quick glance at my husband’s face warned me he’d hit his limit. I was nearly there too, but also panicked that someone might try to intervene. We had a past incident a couple of years ago that still haunts me in which a well-intentioned person tried to help and it made it 100 times worse, resulting in a visit from social services. Everything was fine in the end, (the social worker even said she wasn’t sure why she was called in).
Yet I can’t escape the fear of that happening again and not turning out so happily.
In a not so shining parenting moment, I wrested my son away from my husband. He gave me an annoyed, what-was-that look which I ignored.
“We are leaving now,” I calmly and firmly informed my son. “Do you want to hold my hand, or do you want me to carry you?”
After he nixed both options, I hefted my son halfway over my shoulder, aiming for what I thought was the exit. I figured a woman storming out of the store with a screaming toddler-man-child would elicit less negative attention than a man. Especially when words like, “NO! NO! NO! PUT ME DOWN! I WANT TO GO HOME!” poured forth. (Sidenote: He meant, he did NOT want to go home, but his fury had blurred his communication ability, you know, like it does for all of us.)
At least he used the word, Mommy. Once. I hoped that would stay any kidnapping suspicions.
Shoppers and carts dove out of our path, like I was Moses parting the Red Sea. I tried to avoid looking at faces, but it was hard, so hard. Only one was judgy, a few concerned, but most evaded eye contact with us—lest their children contract whatever afflicted my son. I’d witnessed this sort of thing play out with other families in stores and restaurants before but hadn’t experienced it personally at this level.
I’d become one of those parents.
As I marched, I replayed the past day wondering where I could have changed one thing, given my son food sooner, fed him more protein, insisted he napped earlier of finishing the movie. But really, was there anything we could have done to prevent this? I wasn’t convinced. It was the end of a long trip, and we were all over-stimulated and over-tired.
It was bound to happen. Sometimes toddlers completely lose it, and you just have to carry them out to a quiet place before they can calm down.
Then I stopped, awash in mortification. I’d somehow gone to the back the store instead of the entrance.
My arms were tired. My ears pulsing from my son’s screaming. My legs hurting from a half a week of constant walking.
I put my son down to get a better grip. I asked him again if he wanted to hold my hand and walk to the van.
Nope.
Instead, he got a lungful of fresh air and let loose his protests with renewed vigor.2 They were of epic proportions—such that would make Calvin (the comic strip character, not the theologian) state unequivocally, “There must be a barge coming through!”3 I snatched him back up and looked behind me. My husband was pushing the cart with our other two kids, shaking his head. “Where are you going?”
I wanted to cry but didn’t. I grimaced, reoriented, girded my loins and ran with my screaming toddler to the front of the store and out the entrance while my husband paid for the rug.
Our youngest decided to join the wailing throng once we reached the van and he surmised he was returning to his car seat. It took two of us to buckle him in. There was no consoling him. I hated muscling him into his seat. But no amount of hugging and shushing and holding was calming him (or our other son).
Less than a minute after we left the parking lot, both boys ceased their crying. I apologized to my husband for overstepping in the store. I could have just asked if he wanted help. Instead, I’d let fear drive me.
His hand found mine and squeezed gently.
Sighing, I said, “After all that, I never made it to the bathroom.”
“You want to go back in?” My husband’s thumb gestured over his shoulder toward the glowing bullseye.
I shuddered. “I can’t show my face in there again.”
He found a Wawa for me on the way back to the highway.
I always hesitate sharing parenting posts because it’s an invitation for criticism. But as my friend Sara reminded me, “Most people will read it with deep empathy as many of us have been through that. You might invite a critic or two, of course. Someone who thinks you're not parenting right. Those people are poopy heads but they never seem to realize it.”
My aforementioned friend would like to affirm that I didn't exaggerate a tiny bit about this son’s vocal capacity.
I absolutely LOVE that I have to make this distinction for my audience.
Girl. I am so sorry. This is so hard and yes, happens to all of us!!
Oh the joys. Been there!