The Ticking Time- Bomb

My best friend Doris and I have girls two months apart, her daughter Agnes being older than Mabel.  After J's and my inaugural "baby- in- tow" restaurant outing (somewhere around Mabel's four- week birthday), I was telling Doris that it went well but that I was nervous the whole time she would wake up and scream and we'd have to leave Chili's immediately, ditching our Enchiladas in a panic.  She commiserated, and suggested that having a baby out in public is like a ticking time- bomb.  I loved the analogy then and still do.

There are many instances in which a baby or toddler serves as your own little bomb, so fickle in her decision to freak out or fuss.  When babies are newborns, I think the fear of a bomb explosion is worse because newborns tend to wail when they are dissatisfied.  Mabel was and is a pretty textbook kid in her conduct: whines when overtired, cries when really, really dissatisfied or sleepy, for the most part is calm and content.  90 percent of the time, Mabel is quiet in the car, either sleeping or day- dreaming.  And out in public places, she stares at other patrons and at the store's wares.  Unless I take Mabel to the store at 5pm-- the toddler's witching hour-- she's quiet as mouse and makes good company.

I typically pick Mabel up from day care around 4, and yesterday I was full of energy.  We needed a bunch of crap from Target, and I figured there was no time like the present.  Mabel and I drove over to the store, about 15 minutes away, and I plopped her into the store cart.  For the first twenty minutes or so, she stared agape at all the Valentine's Day decor and at passers by.  I'll admit I was going about my shopping in a leisurely way-- remembering I wanted one thing at one end of the store and then sauntering back to the other.  It was nearly 5:00 when Mabel began her little whines. The sound is something like "ehhh", repeated in around 3 second intervals.  After a few, the "ehhh" becomes "ehhhhhh."  Oh, man, run and get Similac and Valentine's Day cards. Run, I told myself. I had thrown a few t- shirts in the cart for Mabel already, so I grabbed a colorful one and put it in her lap to play with.  In sifting through boxes of Valentines based on kids' shows I had never heard of (Mabel needs Valentines to give out at day care), I took my eyes off her for a second, and didn't realize she was sucking on a little corner of the shirt and the price tag.  Oh, well-- what's done is done.  She had already drunk all the water in her Sippy, and since we had come directly from day care, I didn't have any reinforcements in the form of a bottle or another Sippy (her original had now hit the Target floor).  Now I was really in the desperate place: Well, the Sippy that's touched the Target cart AND floor is probably worse to put a mouth to than this tag.  And, yes, I let her continue to chew at the tag.  I allowed my child to eat paper. 

Racing through the aisles for shampoo and paper- towels, I put up with a few more choruses of "ehhhhh" but was impressed that I had, for the most part, squelched the fussiness.  Now we would just need to pay.  By the time we got up to the cashier and started emptying our stuff onto the belt, Mabel was really doing some good work on that t- shirt.  When I had to give the cashier the shirt, the lady said, "Ummm, do you know how much this was?  The tag is gone."  I lifted Mabel up and found the tag in two halves under her legs. 

Me: "Here you go, sorry they are both wet, but the SKU is there."
Her: "Let me see if the gun will read it..... Um, the bar code is too wet and the tag is too split."
Me (mortified):"That's okay,, you know what, we don't need the t- shirt. Sorry about all this."
Her (so kindly and patiently):"Let me punch the numbers in."
(More "ehhhhhhhhhhh".  Mabel wants OUT of her seat.)
Her: "I can't read the last digit.  Can you?"
Me: "Maybe a 5??"
Her: "Let me try that."
(It worked.)

I started flinging our purchases into bags to help the cashier.  We paid (I should also add for the sake of the story that my total was 381 bucks, and that's because when you bring a baby to a store, you just throw everything you might want into the cart and tell yourself you can return stuff later... and then you don't).  We got into the car, and I cleaned off the dirty Sippy with a sanitizing wipe and gave it back to Mabel.  She took a few tugs off that thing and passed out. 

I can't really express in this blog that feeling that comes on when the ticking time bomb creeps up-- when the whines begin.  This sort of nervousness also is brought on when we take Mabel on long car rides and we have to stop for gas.  Please don't wake up, please don't wake up.  Once you've got them calm/ asleep, you can't risk their waking and riling.  The anxiety when you fear the bomb is profound. Tick, tick, tick...