Let Me Answer That For You: A Response to All the [Negative or Unsupportive] Comments on Any Article about Nursing in Public

I don't know why I bother to read the comments on articles that reference breastfeeding in public. There's never anything new, and there are never any surprises, and I'm never left feeling like there's any hope for humanity. But I persist. I keep hoping to see something different.

Take, for example, an article on The Huffington Post yesterday. It was entitled, "Why Breastfeeding Moms Are Praising Target". The article shared a picture from Facebook that shows major retailer Target explicitly stating its policy on how employees should treat breastfeeding mothers in all Target stores. The policy states:

"Guests may openly breastfeed in our stores or ask where they can go to breastfeed their child. When this happens, remember these points:

• Target's policy supports breastfeeding in any area of our stores, including our fitting rooms, even if others are waiting
• If you see a guest breastfeeding in our stores, do not approach her
• If she approaches and asks you for a location to breastfeed, offer the fitting room (do not offer the restroom as an option)

If you have any questions, partner with your leader."

Breastfeeding mothers are lauding Target for making it abundantly clear that they are welcome to breastfeed anywhere in a Target store, that they will not be approached or harassed by Target employees, and that employees are to offer a fitting room - and not a restroom - to a mother who asks for a private location to breastfeed.

Because I apparently enjoy a trainwreck as much as the next guy (or girl), I clicked on the comments on HuffPost's Facebook post about this article.

And, as usual, there were no surprises.

So, I present: "Let Me Answer That For You," a response to All The Comments, Ever, on any article discussing breastfeeding in public.

"I don't want to see that." 
Then I have good news for you! You don't have to look! And if you happen to be looking in my direction and are *gasp* treated to a brief view of some side boob or flabby mommy-of-4 tummy, then may I offer you some eye bleach? There are lots of things out there I don't want to see. You know what I do about it? I look in another direction.

"There are children watching."
Uh huh. And I bet a lot of those children breastfed and will go up to have babies who breastfeed. I bet none of those children are offended by what they are seeing. I bet none of those children have any reason to think they should be offended by what they are seeing. I guarantee not one of them will be psychologically damaged by witnessing a baby eating. I am 100% certain that my breasts do not produce harmful radiation, project dangerous laser beams, or are bright enough to cause retinal burns. And if your child turns to you and asks, "What is that lady doing with that baby?", all you have to do is say, "She's feeding him," and your child will go back to telling you about brown dogs, fire hydrants, and how they don't like broccoli.

"There are men around. You know how they are!"
To be honest, I see more negative comments from women than men about public breastfeeding. Most men don't seem to care one way or another, and I've certainly never felt that one is staring at me hoping for a nip slip. And if he is? That's his problem, not mine. Why do you care?

"You should time your errands around your child's feeding schedule."
No. I shouldn't. I shouldn't have to. First of all, what if I have more than one child? What if I have this exact two-hour window between preschool drop-off and pickup to run to Target to buy diapers, hit a grocery store to replenish the milk and eggs we used up at breakfast, ship some stuff at the post office, and deposit a check at the bank? And what if, shocking as it may be, my baby happens to get hungry during those two hours? It's quite likely that she will, and when she does, if I don't feed her, she will scream. She will cry. And then you will look at me and say to your friend, judgmentally, "Ugh, why is she letting that poor baby cry?" Babies don't always have predictable feeding times. Exclusively breastfed babies may sometimes go two hours between meals and other times, sometimes on the same day, go only 45 minutes between meals. And a key to maintaining healthy breastfeeding is to feed when the baby is hungry, whether you're at Target or sitting in your bedroom. Besides, if I get hungry while I'm out, I'm very likely to grab a bite to eat. If I have my preschooler with me and he gets hungry, I'll give him a snack. Why does my baby have to be different just because her "snack" comes from my breasts instead of my diaper bag or McDonald's?

"Why don't you pump before you leave so you can give them a bottle while you're out?"
Where do I begin, here? Well. (a) Some babies refuse to drink from a bottle; (b) Many women do not respond well to the pump and can't express enough milk to fill a bottle; (c) Maybe I did just that but he got hungry again and I don't have another bottle for him; (d) If I don't pump on a regular basis, I probably won't be able to produce enough during the rushed 15 minutes before walking out the door to provide that bottle; (e) Feeding from a bottle is not the same as feeding at the breast, and it's a million extra steps instead of simply latching on and going; (f) Don't nobody with a young baby got time for an extra pumping session before running errands! (g) When, exactly, should I pump? Between feedings? Should I leave him crying in his car seat while I squeeze out a few drops of milk before I load up the car and go? Do you have any idea how much longer it takes and how much more work it is to pump as opposed to just feeding from the breast? I have a family to raise!

"Leave the baby at home when you go out."
With whom? Are you volunteering to babysit? Because, actually, running errands without my baby in tow sounds heavenly, but I'm it when it comes to childcare. Also, what if she gets hungry while I'm out? Who's gonna breastfeed her? You? See above for reasons I might not be able to just leave a bottle of pumped milk. And, yes, I'm aware that formula exists, and, no, I don't want to give him any. Thanks for the tip.

"Breastfeeding should be a private and intimate act."
Do you set up a romantic, private table, with candles and wine, for every meal? Does your family never shovel food in their mouths while packing up for school and running out the door? Is every meal in your home a private bonding moment? No? Because neither is every breastfeeding. Sometimes breastfeeding is just feeding. It's a meal. It's a brief stop in between returning books at the library and getting gas. Yes, breastfeeding in a quiet room, just me and the baby, can be very nice, but there isn't always time for that, and it isn't always appropriate. Sometimes, you just gotta feed the baby and move on.

"Just because it's natural doesn't mean everyone needs to see it. Sex/urinating/defecating is also natural!"
I really don't want to have to go there again, but I will, since you brought it up. Breastfeeding does not involve unsanitary bodily fluids such as urine, nor waste products such as feces. Breastfeeding is feeding. Breastmilk is food. Just because it happens to involve the breast does not mean it's the same as having sex. We do not flush breastmilk down the toilet. We do not have sex as a form of nourishment. We do not eat in the bathroom. Orgasm does not provide calories, fats, vitamins, and minerals to help us grow. Give me a break. It's not the same thing. Hugging my child is natural, and I do that all the time in public. Eating a salad is natural, and I do that all the time in public, too (okay, maybe a hamburger, not a salad. You caught me). On the other hand, driving a car, wearing clothes, and getting a manicure are not natural, but we do those things in public. Your logic doesn't hold.

"Why do you want your boobs hanging out?"
I don't. But apparently you do in that low-cut top. You can't see much when I breastfeed. Frankly, if you glanced at me while I'm breastfeeding, half the time you probably wouldn't even realize what I'm doing. And even if you did, the most you'd see is my flabby tummy, not my boobs. If that offends you, I sincerely apologize. I haven't had a chance to meet with my personal trainer, dietitian, and plastic surgeon because I'm busy caring for my family.

"I don't mind if you breastfeed in public, but you should cover up when you do."
Oh, thanks for that. I don't mind if you chew with your mouth open in public, but I wish you'd throw a blanket over your head when you do. What, you don't want to eat with a blanket over your head? My mistake. All snark aside, some babies refuse to nurse under a cover. Many babies will pull it aside, kick it, grab it, or swat it away. A cover makes it more difficult to see while you latch the baby on. A cover is hot. A cover slips off. And, frankly, a cover draws MORE attention to what I'm doing than if I just life my shirt slightly, latch baby on, and go on about my business. Plus, it's yet another thing to carry.

"Why don't you go do it in a [private location such as a car or bathroom]?"
Sometimes I do, although usually not the bathroom. But when I've got a half-full shopping cart, or I'm in the middle of a meal at a restaurant, or I'm watching my other children play at the park, it's impractical or impossible to find somewhere else to breastfeed. I don't want to feel isolated. I don't want to have to leave my companions. I don't want to feel segregated or left out. And I don't want to pull my other kids away from their play or their meal so that I can go somewhere else to feed their baby brother. That seems quite unfair to them, don't you think? I don't want to abandon my cart in the middle of the grocery aisle. I don't want to interrupt my shopping process. And I really, really don't want to sit in a dingy bathroom to nurse.

"Wait until you get home. The baby won't starve."
He might. And even if he won't, what if I won't be going home for a few more hours? What if home is an hour away? And in the meantime, he'll be screaming and crying, getting more and more upset, becoming distressed. My breasts will be filling with milk with nowhere to go and I'll be in pain. If my baby is struggling to put on weight, or I'm struggling to maintain a full supply of milk, feeding on demand and not delaying feedings is vital. Yes, vital. If it'll be 10 minutes, yes, sometimes I will wait until I get home because we'll both be more comfortable there. But if it's going to be three hours, waiting until I get home is simply not an option. He'll probably need to feed twice more in that time!

Whew, I'm glad to get all of that out of my system!

What other hurtful, unsupportive, or negative comments have you seen when it comes to breastfeeding in public. How would you respond to these common ones I've listed?

Grocery Shopping on a Budget: Teaching Life Skills to My Older Kids

My older two kids (8 and 6) are old enough now that I've begun to feel I should be teaching them life skills beyond using the toilet and bathing. For several months, they have been responsible for folding and putting away their laundry and their three-year-old brother's laundry. Soon, the three-year-old will be assigned to assist them with it, but he's still more of a hindrance than a help. The oldest recently volunteered to completely take over doing their laundry, now that he's finally tall enough to reach the dryer, which is stacked atop the washing machine.

They also are sometimes tasked with emptying the dishwasher and setting the table. Sometimes they help me cook, by measuring ingredients, stirring pots, or reading recipes.

I have them help me straighten up toys, sometimes do some light organizing, and sweep the floor.

Today, I decided to take the opportunity to teach them a little about budgeting.

I've only recently begun to seriously delve into the nitty gritty of budgeting and managing money more proactively. I started experimenting with a new budget software, and I noticed how many skills there are to build, and these are skills that can be easily taught at a much younger age than my tender 33 years. Managing money, spending and saving wisely, being choosy about where your money goes, these are things even a six and eight-year-old can begin to understand.

So I issued the family a challenge. We went to the grocery store this afternoon and we made a goal of spending no more than $150. The idea was to pick and choose the best deals, be aware of prices, find good value for the products we needed, and know when to give something up and when to insist on something based on our family of six's need to eat 20 or so meals per week (assuming we have brunch on the weekend!). I wanted the kids to see that when they ask for just one more bag of chips or a drink or treat at the end of the shopping trip, or this snack instead of that one, or "can we get this, too, please?", it all adds up and may prevent us from buying something else because it maxes out the budget.

I had made a pretty comprehensive list of things we needed. Uncharacteristically, we were out of basics like coffee and salt, sugar and paper towels, so I knew those would take up space in the budget that might otherwise be allotted to snacks or a treat at the end.

It made for a perfect lesson.

I handed the eight-year-old my phone in calculator mode, and every time we chose an item, he added the cost to a running total. We checked unit prices to see if what looked like a good deal actually was one. We chose one brand over another based on whether something was on special. I was able to show that by purchasing a large volume of nonperishable items that were marked down, it would mean we could go several weeks without having to buy it, and it would save several dollars in the long run. I was able to demonstrate that even though it took a little more space in this week's $150, next week we wouldn't need to buy that item at all, so we could use that same space to buy something else that was on sale another time.

And, we had to forego some items. Butter would have taken us over budget. The kids wanted a treat, but when we clocked in at a little over $148 when I added some bell peppers (on sale $1 each) and carrots ($.99/pound) and bananas ($.79/pound), I said we had to wrap it up.

We could have made some exchanges. Maybe we needed butter more than tortillas? Maybe, but a 24-pack of tortillas goes a long way, even in a family of six. Maybe we could have made do with less bread in favor of some apples? Possibly. This kind of thing takes practice!

After purchasing four bags (because, of course, I always forget to bring bags) and the tax on a few non-food items, the total came to $151.54. I gave us all a pat on the back. We did very well!

After the experiment, I asked them what lessons they could take out of our little game. We talked about choosing what we really need and not just grabbing what looks good. We discussed making choices that would be beneficial in the long run and not just something we want right now. We said how if we had to forego an item this week, if we got to buy it in the future, we would be that much more excited to have it. We learned how to read price tags and figure out what they really are saying and not just go, "Oh, hey, that's on sale!"

Now, if we had gone over by $25 or $50, it would have been okay. Truthfully, we may need to go back sooner than a week from now to fill in some gaps. I hope not, because that would dilute the lesson a little. But I think they enjoyed the game, especially my oldest, who is definitely a numbers guy. And I hope that now they can appreciate a little better when I say, "I don't have the money for that right now," or, "That's not in the budget this month," or "Do you want to spend your money on THIS or THAT?" They need to understand that money is finite and you have to make good choices!

What ways have you tried to help your children understand the value of money and how to budget?

Adventures with the Toddler in Walmart, or Just Buy the Damn Froot Loops

We went to Walmart on Sunday. I hadn't been to Walmart in about a year, because there isn't one near me where I live now. But we went on a trip to visit my mom, and there are several Walmarts near her. I wanted to get things we'd need during the trip, and I didn't want to spend a lot of extra money doing so.

I realize a trip to Walmart is fraught with ethical, political, and social justice questions for those of us privileged enough to care about such things, but that's not what this post is about.

This post is about toddler meltdowns and the management thereof.

We needed groceries for the two weeks we're here. We had just arrived on Saturday evening, and the kids were tired, excited, overwhelmed, and a little discombobulated. We didn't change time zones. We didn't leave the state. But it was still different and fun and new and unusual and so they were, understandably, not quite themselves.

Anyway, whenever I take all the kids to almost any store, they get a little nuts.

It was about 11:00 in the morning. The kids usually have a snack around 10:30, but we were going from one errand to the next after having a later-than-usual and bigger-than-usual breakfast, so the snack didn't happen. This matters. A lot.

We got to the peanut butter section. We needed a small jar of peanut butter. My almost-three-year-old, G, picked up a jar - at random! - from the shelf and announced we should get that one. It wasn't the brand I wanted or the type I wanted. It looked like it wouldn't taste good. I showed him the jar I wanted to buy and told him to put away the one he'd picked up.

You know what happened, don't you, if you've ever had an almost-3-year-old who is sleep deprived, hungry, and excited, right?

Yes. He melted down. Screaming, tears running down his face, collapsing to the floor, the works. Could. Not. Handle. It. We had to get this peanut butter. He wanted this peanut butter.

I did not want the peanut butter he had offered. I took it from him and put it back on the shelf, showed him the jar I wanted, and put that one in the cart. We moved on. He followed, still crying piteously. I don't think he even knew what he was crying about anymore.

Then, just as he was calming down from the Peanut Butter Incident, G tripped over his brother's foot, fell, and hit his head on the wheel of the cart. Resume meltdown status! I comforted him as best I could, rubbed the sore spot, tried to settle him back down. I spotted the Parmesan cheese. We needed Parmesan. I didn't particularly care which container of Parmesan we ended up with. G loves his "papajon cheese." I said, "Look! G! Look! What's that up there?" Tears continue. "G! Look! Parmesan cheese! Do you want to pick out the Parmesan?" I was talking in the exaggerated, desperate, high-pitched, overly sweet voice most moms know well, the one that says, "Please, oh please be distracted by what I'm doing so you'll stop crying. Please, please, please!"

No dice. The "papajon" cheese wasn't enough to enable him to get over the Peanut Butter Incident and the Bumping Head On Cart Fiasco.

I chose the obvious Parmesan option and tossed it into the cart and we attempted to move on.

Next came the cereal aisle. I wasn't intending to buy cereal at all, but the kids like it, and when G saw where we were, he finally - finally! - gathered himself and returned to Normal Operating State. Mostly.

He picked up a Family Size box of Froot Loops. Of all the cereals in the aisle, of all the options there, he picked up a Family Size Box Of Froot Loops.

"Mommy, can we get cereal? I want this cereal!" he said, in his impossibly cute little voice.

"No," I started to say. "Let's get - "

He looked up at me with those big brown eyes. Those big brown eyes that said, "You don't want me to melt down again, do you? DO YOU?" Those big, adorable, tired, overwhelmed, excited, hungry, brown eyes, attached to that adorable, tear-streaked face, with that adorable, curly, disheveled, bright orange hair. He looked up at me, clutching the big red box of Froot Loops, the Family Size box of disgusting, sweet, colorful, horrible cereal, and said, "Mommy, I want this cereal!"

My sentence did not end with "Cheerios." It instead switched direction mid-word and became, "Okay. Yes. Let's get that cereal!" And into the cart it went.

That wasn't the end of our shopping trip by a long shot, but it was the end of the meltdowns. There was a minor setback when the question of which chips to buy came up, but we were able to prevent that one from escalating by allowing him to take his sweet time choosing exactly which flavor of Pringles to buy.

(I realize it sounds like we bought a cartful of junk food, but I promise we also bought lots of other stuff. Really.)

Anyone who witnessed only the Cereal Selection Episode and the Pringles Question might think we were indulging our toddler, that we were giving in to his demands, that we were spoiling him. But I hope that most parents would realize that sometimes you give in just to get your shopping done. Sometimes, you want to spare your overwhelmed toddler (and your exhausted self) the stress of yet another tantrum. And sometimes you simply can't reason with, or win against, a toddler on the edge, and it's easier just to buy the damn Froot Loops.

At least he's eaten them for breakfast every morning since.

On Running Errands Alone

On Saturday afternoons, my husband occupies all four kids one way or another and I have a half-hour guitar lesson. For that short time each week, I am kid-less. It is a healthy, rejuvenating half-hour for me. A half-hour in which I can focus on myself, my guitar, and the chords before me and not wonder if the toddler is getting into something he shouldn't, not have to break up shouting matches between my two oldest, not have to be interrupted to feed a crying baby. It is a half-hour all my own, and I treasure it.

Something interesting happened recently. I got to my lesson about 15 minutes early, accidentally (I over-estimated traffic). I was thirsty and needed to use the bathroom, and we needed a few groceries. Next to Guitar Center is a Trader Joe's. I parked the car, went to Trader Joe's, bought a couple of things, including a drink for myself, drank it, then went into Guitar Center, used the bathroom, and then went to my lesson.

For someone without kids, or someone who is regularly able to run errands without their kids, this doesn't seem at all remarkable. I mean, it's an obvious sequence of events.

But if you're like me and you almost always have at least one or two small children with you - or even three or four - you can understand why this was interesting. Normally, running any errand, whether it's to pick up a few things at the store, make a deposit at the bank, or run in to the post office, is a project. Depending on how many and which kids I have along for the ride, I need to plan my parking spot close to the door or the cart return, I need to wear the baby or put him in the cart, I need to hold at least two other hands, keep my eyes on the others lest they wander. I usually try to limit my errand-running to one or two per day. It can be exhausting.

No to mention that any trip to a grocery store inevitably involves requests for treats or a drink, various instances of "can we get this?", a trip to the samples table (at Trader Joe's), and potentially fights over who sits in the cart and/or who pushes it. And G-d help me if there are kid-sized carts!

And forget stopping in the bathroom. I'll just hold it until I get home.

If I forget to buy something on a trip to the store, oh well, we'll do without. If we need something in particular, I stack that errand with any others I may need to do. There's no "stopping in on the way to" or "just running out for"s in my life. I'm not complaining. This is just my reality right now. It has gotten easier in recent months since the older two can get themselves into the car without assistance and the toddler can at least climb into his car seat, although I do have to buckle him. It's gotten easier because the older two know not to run off or dawdle in parking lots. It's gotten easier because they can actually help me by grabbing things from the shelves, standing with the cart while I run to the other end of the aisle for something, and make the baby smile.

So, suffice it to say, I enjoyed the luxury of being able to run in to Trader Joe's, buy some stuff, and use the bathroom all by myself.

Four Boys? You've Got Your Hands Full!

When I'm out grocery shopping with my four boys (and having four boys requires a lot of grocery shopping!), I get a lot of looks. People mentally count my kids. People watch me go by with my train of ducklings. I sometimes feel like I'm leading an invasion whenever we all go somewhere. My kids are noticeable, with two redheads, a taller-than-average 7-year-old, the 5-year-old's big brown eyes, the 2-year-old's contagious grin. They are not quiet kids, and they are not shy kids.

I admit that I'm "that" mom sometimes. My middle two, for some reason, go nuts in stores. They run up and down the aisles shrieking like banshees. They grab each other, knock each other over, get in other shoppers' way. They touch every single price tag. I can't get the toddler to sit in the cart if he doesn't want to. I can't get the 5-year-old to walk sedately beside the cart no matter how many different ways I frame it.

On the bright side, they don't knock things off shelves or break things, so I've got that going for me.

Thankfully, I live in an area full of very friendly and forgiving people. I get indulgent smiles from grandmotherly ladies. I get wondering comments like, "Wow, four boys?! You've got your hands full!" I get commiseration. I'm grateful for all of it, because we parents of young children often feel that everyone is judging our parenting all the time, and it's nice to know that most of the time, the people watching understand that sometimes little boys just want to run around. (And who could blame them for not wanting to go grocery shopping?)

I hope that I remember those amused glances, those understanding comments, the occasional compliment when my kids are grown. I hope that one day I'm that lovely grandmotherly lady who sees a young mom come in with her brood and tells her she's doing a good job, tries to make her baby smile, and commiserates about the nonstop energy of little boys. I imagine that 30 years from now, I'll be the friendly woman in the grocery store who tells that young mom, "Oh, yes, I had four boys. They're all grown up and married now, and they treat me like a queen."

I want to remember this feeling of overwhelmed-ness, of frustration, of burnout, because one day I want to offer the comforting smile, the gentle joke, and the compliment to that young mom in the store with her four boys (or girls). I want to remember how much a kind word can lift a weary soul. I want to be the one to make the toddler's tears turn to smiles, to joke with the 5-year-old, to make silly faces at the baby, so that sagging mother can finish her shopping. I want to be the one who steps aside with my one loaf of bread and carton of eggs so the mom with the full cart and melting-down 2-year-old can just get finished and get home already.

So thank you to the understanding mothers of grown children who have smiled at me and said hello. Thank you to the kind store employees who are patient with me and my crazy kids. Thank you to the other mothers of small kids who join me in a resigned sigh as we cross paths from aisle to aisle. And thank you to the sweet grandfathers who joke with my little ones and tell me about their grandchildren. You brighten my day so that I, in turn, can one day brighten someone else's.

Tales of the Runaway Toddler, Grumpy Old Man Edition

The other day, I bravely took all three kids to Barnes & Noble by myself. I say bravely because GI is in a running-away stage. I can't just carry him - he's 25 pounds - and he's not content to be carried or sit in a stroller all the time anymore. He struggles and screams and wants to run around. So I let him. Which means I have to chase him. Which means leaving the other two to their own devices for a moment or forcing them to chase GI around with me.

So, Barnes & Noble. They've added a toys and games section, which is awesome, because they have some really great toys and games. My kids received Hannukah gelt from my aunt, who instructed them to each get a toy and a book with the money. B&N was an obvious place to go, and less intimidating than Toys R Us. I was following GI around the toddler toys aisle, and I stopped to look at a toy. When I looked up to keep following him, he had vanished.

Panic.

The problem with toddlers is that they're short. And quicker than you think. And totally unaware of danger.

Sure, he looks innocent enough here. 

But let him loose in a bookstore and see what happens!

I told NJ and SB to STAY BY THE TRAIN TABLE and started asking other people in the toy section if they'd seen a baby. One mother offered to help look for him, which I gratefully accepted. Suddenly, a teenage boy came up to me and asked if I was looking for a baby. His mom had been tracking GI for me and had sent him to see if he could find a mom looking for a baby. WHEW. Sure enough, GI had made his way to the front of the store and was gleefully running through the business section while the teenager's mother followed. I thanked her profusely, and she explained that she hadn't wanted to pick him up in case someone thought she was trying to make off with him. I kept a much closer eye on him after that.

And then we had to stand in line to pay. I had somehow miscalculated how many hands I am currently in possession of. I was carrying a game of "Sorry!", 6 Magic Treehouse books, two picture books, a stuffed Dalek (yes, you read that right), a wooden train, an Etch-a-Sketch, and a Batman Lego set. And a 25-pound toddler. Something had to give. And the line was long. It became a choice of drop-the-toddler or drop-the-mound-of-toys-and-books, and I chose to put the toddler down before it got any worse.

MISTAKE.

I watched GI run away again, with clear instructions to NJ and SB to STAY WITH HIM. He went immediately to the front doors, because obviously the parking lot is a much more fun place than the cash register line. Fortunately, a collection of friendly adults, plus his big brothers, worked to keep him inside the store while I anxiously willed the cashier to finish my transaction. I indicated my distress by pointedly glancing toward the doors repeatedly, saying I was worried that my toddler was going to run away, and dancing from foot to foot in a manner quite similar to the Potty Dance. (I should add that I could see the doors from where I was standing. The kids were not out of my sight, just out of my reach for the moment.)

And then I was free, with two big bags of stuff.

I rushed to the doors, where SB and NJ were casually watching GI as GI casually watched the doors, waiting for his chance to escape. An old man said to me, "Is this your baby? He almost got his arm cut off! You weren't paying any attention to him!"

Taken aback but actually rather focused for a change, I responded, "I was paying attention to him. I sent these two to watch him while I finished checking out."

"These two were supposed to be watching him?" he sneered. "They weren't doing a very good job."

And here's where I'm very proud of myself. Instead of escalating, I simply said, "Thank you for keeping an eye on him. I appreciate the help." And we left.

I made NJ carry a bag so I could carry the wayward toddler.

In retrospect, I could have - and probably should have - asked the cashier to wait a moment while I rescued GI, then held him while we completed the transaction, but by the time we finally got to the almost-done stage, my arms ached with fatigue and I didn't think of it.

Next time, I'm taking the stroller. Or a leash. Or both. And maybe another adult or two.

Or maybe I won't go back there until GI is old enough to understand, "STAY BY THE TRAIN TABLE."

Or I grow another arm.

By the way, stuffed Dalek!

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