…there is one, you know.
Let me tell you how. Â Last night I rush over after work to pick up the frog princess who is out of diapers. Now, normally “out of diapers” for means that there’s a half dozen in her bag and at least 3 in my house and at my parents (where the nanny watches her). Â Well, this week, out of diapers meant, I may have 2 at home and one in the bag. Â So off I go to CVS, too close to her bedtime for me to be comfortable.
I put my debit card in my back pocket and plop the kid on my hips (I looked very “I’m sooo from a third world country” ish). Â I stroll in heading steadily towards the back and I pass an isle that compels me to look back. I see it then: the wine. Â I go to the diaper isle and the first thing that happens is, I almost choke on the prices. Â I select a small pack of diaper in a size bigger that what she currently wears (because I’m thinking, it’s about time, no? She’s been in 3’s for a while and the size 4’s overlap on the weight). Â Well, unbeknownst to me, I picked up a pack of the cruisers not the baby dry (I got pissed about this after I got home and realized it). Â But, I digress.
On my way out, I take a pit stop in the wine isle. I see that the Beringer is on sale with my CVS rewards card. Â I decide to scoop up a bottle. Â As I am walking away I remember that I broke the arm off my nice wine opener and the last time I tried using the spare one, it didn’t seem to work right and The Man had to get it for me. Â The Man wasn’t home at the moment. Â So, I mitigated my risk and picked up an opener as well.
Here I am, walking up to the counter. Â Frog princess on my right hip, diapers on one hand, wine and bottle opener on the other. Â The guy behind the counter sees me coming and smiles. Â I wonder if his smile is a distraction while he blindly dials the department of children and families to report me. Â I look him in the eye. Â He doesn’t know the kind of day/week/month I’ve had. Â I am resentful that I suspect he’s judging me. Â I smile, I pay, I leave. Â I wonder if he thinks I’m going to sit in my car drinking wine and changing diapers.
I decide that I don’t care. Â I decide that I am a good mom. Â In spite of the fact that I just got the wrong diapers and that I just purchased an alcoholic beverage at a pharmacy. Â I have just had a slightly stressful day at work AND my grief had decided to make an appearance 15 minutes before my 3:30 meeting. I had to rush to the bathroom to cry (I LOVE my new job and the people and the office but the only negative is: there’s no way I can bust out crying at my desk because we have an open office and I have zero walls to shelter me from the eyes of dozens of people (mainly boys) that sit around me). Â Then I had to blot because my nose gets Rudolph red when I cry and I was totally planning on passing however I was looking on allergies though I hoped no one would ask.
On the way to pick up the baby earlier that day, I started talking to The Man about childcare (the situation will be changing because the frog princess was cared for at my mom’s house because my mom was ill and couldn’t care for her the way we’d planned. Now that Â mami’s gone, that has to change). Â This led to a slight breakdown having to do with my fabulous new job that is not a standard 9-5 and routines, pick up times, my feelings of crappiness due to my being a working mom and the general consensus of grief that has crawled into my heart. Â So, I stopped at the store to be a good mami and get diapers for my baby and this is how those diapers correlate with wine. Â The End.
I came home and after putting the baby to bed and making pizza for dinner, I had a glass of wine. Â And I didn’t care that I got the damn thing at CVS…