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Saturday… America’s errand day.  Today I was excited because, like a regular person, I was going to take my little person and run errands.  Where to? Well, Target of course.  Now, most of the time I feel like I live in a biggish town instead of a small city.  It’s called a city but when you visit a real city, you realize it’s a town…until you go to Target.  We have the ultimate “urban Target”.  Why do I say this?  It’s because it’s on the second floor of a building.  That’s right.  That’s all it takes to make a Target feel urban.  If it’s not on the ground surrounded by a sprawling parking lot, space must be at a premium and you must live in a city.  We will just ignore the fact that there is nothing on the first floor of the building.  Apparently we don’t have enough urban populace to support a Target and a Home Depot in the same building.

Regardless, my urban, millennium, enviro-conscious baby and I packed up our reusable shopping bags and our Baby Bjorn to make a splash at the urban Tar-jay.  Learning from some past mistakes, we boobed up before we left the house to allow for maximum shopping time.  She was sporting a very cute outfit from KissyKissy.  I’m pretty sure we were the hit of the store.  Cute and quiet, as we walked in we heard the oohs and aahs.  “How old is your baby?”, “That’s a little one”, “Look honey, you used to be that small”.  We were feeling pretty full of ourselves.  We stroll in and are about to grab a cart when I spy the Starbucks.  Oh really?  There’s a Starbucks in Target?  I completely forgot! That’s not at all why I wanted to do my shopping here today but, since it’s here, I should probably just grab a little something to sip on while we shop.  I’ll just have to be careful not to drip piping hot coffee on my daughter’s head as it bobs beneath me in the BB.

After taking the first sip of my Decaf Venti Non-fat, No whip Mocha (the beauty in life is in the simplicity), we are ready to shop.  What’s on the list today?  Pants, as the child is drowning in onesies with nothing to wear beneath them, and toys.  Apparently, as both her nanny and my mom informed me, my child’s brain will not develop if I don’t get her toys.  She will be a dull, grey person content sitting and staring at a wall for the rest of her life working at a menial job that she hates.

First, to the clothes.  Let me just say that in the summertime, your little girl is not allowed to wear pants.  Only cute pink dresses and hotpants…yes those tight little shorts specifically designed to accentuate the sexiness of the diaper.  Is Carter not aware that most little girls live in air-conditioned homes and have nannies who already feel like we are freezing our child???  I found two lousy pairs of pants and, of course, I had to get the denim shorts because they were too cute…and they were only $5.  They were also made in Bangladesh, likely by a child not much older than my daughter.  I did bring my own shopping bags though, doesn’t that count for something?

Next, to the toys.  Here I went from enthusiastic neuron-developing-mom to stressed out uber-consumer in 30 seconds.  Did we need the tummy time mat with 85 danglies to play with, or the door jumper.  They only had the Johhny Jumper and not the Jane Jumper.  Is the gender difference solely in the design of the harness or are there different support structures to accommodate different pelvic structures?  Does she need the jungle tummy mat or the pink one?  Which one will give her fewer gender identity issues?  Do we shoot ahead and get her items designed for a 3 month old or is that like teaching calculus to a fourth grader?    We settled on two tropical birds that hang from the carrier and a Baby Einstein fishy mobile…now that will make her smarter.  A quick scoop of hair ties and cat food and a few adoring comments about our babe snoozing away in the carrier and we are back at the car with our petroleum laden toys, our child-labor clothing and not a single plastic bag.  Virtuously, we leave our items in the car and walk, that’s right, walk across the street to the Best Buy and Trader Joes.

As we made our way across the street, I started to feel a wiggle…uh oh.  Best Buy was going to have to be a quickie.   I went right over to the universal remote area and began my comparison-shopping.  At this point she had had it.  She started to complain more loudly and as I scanned the area in vain hoping to find a nice Geek to help me, I started the sssshhh-ing, the swaying, and the bouncing.  I can’t imagine why no one wanted to help, I’m sure I’d be able hear them over the screaming as I danced around like an idiot.  I made my remote decision like I pick out wine in a restaurant by choosing the one in the middle price point (which I’m sure means that I pay the highest premium for the lowest added value).

I noticed through the deafening howls that we weren’t getting any little questions now, just looks of pity mixed with varying degrees of annoyance.  After paying, I left my purchase at the counter and ran to the restroom for a quick boobing.  One thing I have to say Best Buy, you keep a spotless restroom.  I’m sure there are many mothers out there who take nursing very seriously and stare meaningfully into their child’s eyes while offering them sustenance.  I take the opportunity while standing in the handicap stall to check email, read a book on my Kindle app, type this entry and even pee (not all at the same time mind you).

About midway through nursing, as often happens, I felt a rumbling down below and suddenly her diaper became a lot warmer.  Wouldn’t it have been great if I had brought my diaper bag along?  I wonder how my carbon footprint of the day will be affected by having to wash her outfit twice to get the fecal stains out of it.  Nothing I can do about that now.  I squish her damp little butt back into the BB and we run out of the store leaving a trail of a faint aroma of poo.  We trot across the building to the Trader Joes, buy our frozen, individually wrapped in plastic, crushed garlic cloves, throw them into our reusable shopping bag and head for home.

As I unload the packages from the big-box store, the electronics store and the grocery, I send a quick text to my wife.  “On your way home, can you stop and buy some C volt batteries for the mobile?”.  I hope she has a reusable bag with her…


Written by composthaste

June 16, 2012 at 8:33 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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