The Mall: Hell's Waiting Room

I went shopping with The Kid today. I remember when shopping was a relaxing experience. I used to go to the mall and shop. For fun.

Not so much anymore. Now I go to torture myself. I go if I feel I need to repent for my transgressions. If I make it out of the mall alive, sanity intact more or less, then I don't have to go to church for 5 Sundays. It's the equivalent of 20 Hail Marys and 35 Our Fathers. I think. I'm guesstimating.

I had 3 stores to go to today. That's one more than I usually go to and 2 more than The Kid can handle.

Store 1: Baby into carseat, stroller in trunk, diaper bag, phone, purse, let's go. Baby out of carseat, into stroller, let's go.

We got through 3 racks of sweaters before The Kid was so over being in the stroller. We were at level 10 whining. I proceed to carry him, push the stroller, browse through 2 more racks of jeans and head off to the dressing room. I get one leg into a pair of jeans when he decides to make a break for it under the dressing room door. I tried to coax him back with promises of his favorite toy, my iPhone.

Oh, look kiddo, mommy's phone! You want mommy's phone? Come get it, come on you know you want mommy's phone! Come on, buddy, please don't make mommy have to walk out of here half naked.

It worked. Thank god. Running out of the dressing room with one pant leg on is not my idea of fun. Funny? Yes. Fun? No.

I decide not to risk trying on the 3 sweaters. So if you see me in a lovely chartreuse sweater a size too small for me, for you own sake, don't mention it.

Baby out of stroller, baby into carseat, stroller in trunk. Diaper bag, phone, purse. Let's go.

Store 2: The Kid fell asleep on the way there in the car. I know better. We sat in the parking lot 45 minutes while he finished his nap. I had no clue a tiny boy less than 2 feet tall and nonverbal could rule over me like the benevolent dictator that he is. Baby out of carseat. Baby into stroller. Let's go. Crap, they don't carry the umbrella stroller I'm looking for. Baby out of stroller, baby into carseat, stroller in trunk. Diaper bag, phone, purse, Let's go.

Store 3: Of course The Kid is hungry. We pull in the parking lot and he eats. Baby out of carseat, into stroller. Let's go. I get one aisle of browsing clothes before he gets baby ants in his pants. He proceeds to throw all his toys and my purse half a dozen times and take off his socks. And throw them. Whining commences. I take him out of the stroller. Five handfuls of hair, 3 head butts and 2 eye gouges later, I put him down. He grabs the closest thing to him and pulls down a rack of shirts. Then rips off a tag and tries to eat it. Between apologies and picking up shirts, I pay for a couple of sweaters and decide to head out of there. If you see my child in the cutest blue sweater with an adorable baby bear on it two sizes too small for him, for your own sake, don't mention it.

Baby out of stroller, into carseat, stroller in trunk. Diaper bag, phone. Let's go. Thank god.

Finally we get home, mission accomplished, sanity intact, we're still alive, victory! I can even see the relief in The Kid's baby blue eyes.

I unload our treasures from the trunk and fish out my purse from the front seat. Wait. Where's my purse?