Saturday, July 7, 2012

My New Shorts

I went shopping this evening. I wanted to find a pair of shorts for a short vacation to Las Vegas that the husband and I will be taking later this week, and I did find a cute pair-- in white, not my typical color choice for bottoms (if you're curious as to why I do not typically wear white shorts, please check out this entry in Urban Dictionary). They look like this, but I paid $12.80 for mine, so I don't think they're exactly the same:  
Cute, right?
I was happy to find something within my budget (for $12.80 I am not going to worry that they will be ruined and never worn again) and versatile. 

It took me three trips to the store, at least a combined ninety minutes of browsing, two people referring to me as ma'am, and the help of one salesgirl (she was an actual girl) to find these shorts. 

Yet, the thing that I took from my shopping experience is not my mini-victory. Instead, I am remembering the little baby girl crying the store and my fairly physical reaction to those VERY tired cries. 

The girl was about the same age as my own kid, making the moment even worse-- of course, and she was hanging out in her stroller. The person who appeared to be her mother looked like she'd had too much fun in her past life, and was struggling to cope with having a rather new baby around. 

On the one hand, I get it. Sometimes, all I want to do is mindlessly stumble around the mall for a few hours like I used to. Without anyone crying, yelling, or pooping. I'd also like to be doing this at nine o'clock at night. 

But, I don't usually get to do that. Sometimes I do because I am fortunate enough to have a husband who willingly hangs out with our kid, listens to her tired cries, and interprets them to mean: "Dad, please put me to bed. NOW!" Even on the nights he's not around I have many willing family members willing to take my kid for as long as I need/want. (Did I mention I'm lucky?) 

Even realizing my own luck, I was SO incredibly sad and mad and actually sort of sickened by those tired little cries because all that little girl wanted was to go to sleep. But, I couldn't do anything about it for her. 

So, all I did do was remind myself of how lucky I am and how happy I am that I do get to enforce a strict bedtime for the little girl and I do get to wrestle her down on the nights her dad works and no one else has to hear her tired little cries in the mall at nine o'clock at night and feel badly for her. (But, they do hear her cries at eight in the morning because my neighbor's girls-- ages nine and ten-- let me in on that one the last time I saw them.) 
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