Moms Need Encouragement—Not Judgment

Old ladies are the worst.

Yeah, I said it. They may be all cute with their five-foot-nothing statures and their wispy locks. But don’t be fooled– they are a gravity-stricken bomb with 200 years of pent-up aggression.

And they’re waiting to explode.

I was in Costco yesterday with my four-month-old strapped to my chest. He was fussing because…well, he’s a baby. Who is teething. And he was hot. And needed a nap. And 45 other reasons that I don’t feel like going into.

I had out my phone and I was trying desperately to scan a barcode on a box of Apple Strudel to find out its calorie content.  (And yeah, it was important. Because see, I have started watching my calories in an effort to be aware of what I’m eating and to get more…svelte. And Apple Strudel, while obviously delicious, was sending up red flags in my brain that read, “WATCH OUT. IT TASTES TOO GOOD. DON’T BUY IT.”)

Anyway, the calories weren’t listed on the front of the damn thing—smart, because then you can just make up whatever number you think is fair (I had settled on about 200, because then I could eat them without guilt).

Anywho—there I was, estimating caloric intakes while bouncing the baby around in my Ergo when I heard a raspy old voice.

“That might be fun to look at,” she said pointing at my phone. “But maybe you should concentrate on that…” at which point she gestured grandly to my son who was laid against my chest making noises.

I wish that I could say I had the perfect snarky response. The story would be better had I said something clever in return, like the million ideas I had while walking around the store, enraged, after the fact.

But I was in shock. My face turned bright red and I just padded quietly off to the wine aisle where I clearly belonged.

**It should be noted that while browsing wines, with three bottles already in my cart, I ran into a pair of old folks who looked at me and the baby, and my cart with only wine in it who said, “Good for you. Picking up the essentials.”

First off, I can relate to the frustration of seeing parents on their phones that are ignoring their children–when said children are misbehaving. But mine was not. He wasn’t in danger, trouble, or bothering anyone. He wasn’t even screaming. He was scratching my collarbone with his sharp little nails, drooling on my chest, and voicing his displeasure in baby coos.

Second, I didn’t even have my older two children with me. This old biddy caught me in what might have been the most peaceful shopping trip of my existence—and still had a problem with the way I was handling the situation. I can only imagine her reaction had my other beautiful terrors been there, as well.

Third, fuck her. Fuck her for judging some poor woman (me) in the pastry section of Costco. Fuck her for having the nerve to imply that I wasn’t sufficiently taking care of my child. Fuck her for shaming me into quickly walking away from what could have been the best fucking Apple Strudel of my life.

I am a stay-at-home mother with three kids under the age of four. And ya know what? Sometimes a mamma needs a tasty treat that she hasn’t cooked herself (IE that doesn’t have boogers, shit, or literal tears in it).

It would have been great if this woman had taken the time to slip into my flip-flops and nursing-bra for a moment and see me for what I am: a mother trying to do her best.

I am not ashamed to say that I am hot mess on most days. You may find me looking longingly at the dessert section, lingering by sweets while my baby is hitting me in the face. You may see me putting my two-year-old in time out in the middle of the grocery store for licking the ground.

Or, I may be the tired looking 30-something woman being pushed around in the cart by her husband, because he sometimes offers, and folks– I take a break when I see one.

Or, if fate has it, I may be throwing pastries at the elderly in a Costco near you.