It's official. We have a holy terror on our hands. His name is Beckham. He weighs about 25 pounds. He is a climber. He throws pretty dramatic fits. He doesn't listen. He doesn't talk. He doesn't respond to any type of punishment. We can no longer take him out in public. We can no longer enjoy a meal with him. Shoot. Me. Now.
So here's a great example of how my life has been lately. Yesterday I had to run to Target. Not for anything major, just a few necessities. I love Target because you can get your kids some popcorn and a slush, and have about 45 minutes to get your shopping done. Well, the monster has decided that he likes freedom. This means that ANY time we try to confine him, he throws a freaking fit. Yesterday was no different. Get to Target, get some popcorn, give the boy a slush, try and strap him into the buggy while he's still excited about his icy drink, get about 5 feet when he notices he's strapped down and starts turning red with anger. Great. I try to drive faster to excite him (boys like that, right?), he screams louder and starts arching his back. Just before I get to his slush, because I know what's about to happen, he throws it. It was awesome. Blue slush all over the diaper aisle. Insert his first spanking in a public place. Move on to the baby food aisle where I run in to earth momma. You know the one. No make up, Aunt Jemima head wrap, toddler sitting nicely in the buggy (probably snacking on a rice cake) and the other infant taped to her body. Well, Miss Tree Hugger gives me one of those 'Oh, you let your babies cry?' looks. Yes, yes I do. I have about 10 things on my list that have to be bought TODAY and I'm not leaving this store until I have them. It was then that I made the executive decision to let him throw his fit. All through Target. What do I care? I don't even know Miss Tree Hugger and I can ignore her disapproving looks.
I grab my baby food, soap and humility and make my way to the grocery side. It is then that I start getting a lot of those disapproving glances. The one that bugged me the most came from a little girl that couldn't have been a day over 18. Umm, why don't you get a few kids of your own before you start judging me? Mmmkay? Or there was the grandma that gasped when homeboy wiggled his way out of the tight seat belt to stand up, so I popped his little thigh, sat him down, and buckled him in tighter. Are you too old to remember when YOU had kids this age?
Last aisle. Thank you Lord. I haven't lost all of my sanity, yet. Here comes Miss Tree Hugger leisurely strolling along with her little latte in hand. She obviously notices that I am about to have to preform an exercism in the middle of Target and here comes that look, AGAIN. Listen lady, I don't know why my child is the spawn of satan? I don't know why I have such strong willed children? I don't know why he is screaming like he's dying a slow painful death? I don't know why he only does this in public places? But I do know that you can keep your creepy eye rolls to yourself.
Next time you go to the store and hear a child that sounds like an injured hyena screaming, just give me an 'I feel your pain' kind of look and keep on movin.