Terrible Twos?

I went shopping the other day at Kohl's. I need back to work clothes because mine are all worn out, and I have gained more weight, depressingly enough.
So I took Grace on a rainy morning at 9:00am thinking she would do well because it was WAY before nap time. She did okay in the kiddie seat in the cart, and then I let her out of the seat in the big dressing room where she threw all of the clothes on the floor one by one. It's okay. I expected it, and at least she was happy.

When I put her BACK in the kiddie seat in the cart, however, everything changed. She was so angry. She started screaming and crying because she did NOT want to be in that seat. However, there is no way I can let her walk in that store. The clothing racks are way too crowded. I would lose her in a heartbeat.

So, I trudged back through the clothing section getting different sizes of the items that I liked and headed back to try them on one more time. All the while she is crying and arching her back.

When I got in the dressing room and took her out, she was fine again (of course).

When I put her back in the seat, same story as the last time.

I hurried to the shoe section because she needs some new shoes. Her one pair of tennis shoes is falling apart. She was screaming and crying the whole way. All along the way I got "those" looks from people. Most women looked at me with understanding and pity in their eyes with the "I've been there" look. However, there were some who looked at me like, "What are you doing to that kid? Can't you get her to shut up??" I just smiled apologetically at them and bit my tongue. One day though---one day--I'm not going to be able to bite my tongue. I'm going to look them straight in their accusing eyes and ask them, "What do you want? Would you rather me let her out of the cart and let her run around and tear everything off the shelves and disappear so you can shake your head and accuse me of not watching my kids? OR would you rather I keep her in the cart where she is safe and let her cry? What is your problem?"

Of course, I'll probably never have the guts to say that to someone out loud in real life, but the thought of it gives me great satisfaction. Who knows, maybe they'll catch me on a particularly sleep-deprived day, and then maybe things will get interesting.

The icing on the cake was upon exiting the store. (Or trying to at least.) Here I have a ginormous bag of clothes hanging on one arm and cutting off the circulation. In that hand I have a gold umbrella because it is raining pretty steadily now. With the other hand I'm trying to grab my 20 month old as she runs away from me to go on a "shopping" spree. I finally grab her hand, and then it happens. You know when all of their bones suddenly turn to jello and they have no muscle tone at all to hold their body up? She is a huddled mass on the floor screaming and crying big crocodile tears. Well, I couldn't figure out how to pick her up and hold everything else without dropping her, so I displayed my excellent parenting skills. I reached down and grabbed her arm right by her armpit and pulled her rubbery body up and began to drag her out the door with her kicking her feet for all she was worth.

Just then a lady walked up behind me to exit the building. "Aw. Poor thing. How old is she?" And she just stood there and looked at us. Me with a load too wide to make it through the door and no free hand to open it. Did she offer to open the door for me? No. Just stood there shaking her head piteously.

"Well, if you OPEN THE DOOR for me than I might tell you!!" I screamed.

Okay, I didn't really scream that. Out loud. I did scream it in my head though. Instead, I kicked the door open, dragged my bag, umbrella, and kicking-screaming-limp-noodle daughter through the opening, and said through clenched teeth, "20 months."

The lady followed me through the door I had opened for her.

We were now standing in the foyer between the two sets of doors, and she continued to talk to me. "Oh, I remember when my daughter was that age. She started behaving like that too. Poor baby. Or should I say, poor mommy!" She was chuckling.

I on the other hand was struggling to keep the huge bag of clothes on my arm, to not drop the umbrella, and to humanely drag my screaming daughter out the door. The closed door.

The lady stood there. Again. Not even hinting at opening the door for me. So, again. I kick the door open, and through the door we struggle--into the rain. Now I have to get the umbrella open one-handed and get all of us to the car without getting completely soaked.

Finally I reached down, put Grace under my arm and "carried" her all the way to the car kicking and screaming.

Once we were at the car I set her down, and guess what? The screaming and crying stopped. Just. Like. That. She stood there in the rain waiting patiently for me to open the door and put her in her seat.

I have to say that we went straight home for lunch and a NAP--for both of us! Ha!

And if I am ever out in public and see a parent struggling with a screaming kid, I think that I will at least open the door for them.