Déjà Vu All Over Again

Perhaps you saw me last night at Trader Joe’s schlepping my half-naked infant in a stroller, while trying to keep up with my three-year-old who was hell bent on swerving her mini shopping cart into every passerby.

It’s not the winter weather on my baby’s skin or anxiety-ridden apologies to every Trader Joes patron that has me down. It’s déjà vu all over again for me.

I start each morning with my usual mantras: “Expect the unexpected,” and “It’s motherhood –anything goes.” Yesterday was no different. At 7:30 a.m., the routine began. Breakfast, teeth brushed, kids dressed and out the door to preschool.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I mentally chewed on my schedule for the day: grocery shopping, naps, then a trip with the kids to Stretch the Imagination. In the back seat, Ella, my three-year-old, settled into a persistent cough that had me worried. I left a message for her doctor and proceeded to the grocery store. I’d developed a masterpiece of dinner menus the night before and was quite pleased with myself. I checked my watch; no time now, I’ll visit TJ’s later. The doctor called back as I sped over to Ella’s school. “Check her for a fever,” he said. As soon as the words issued from his mouth, I’d swear she developed a fever instantaneously.

Plans were quickly changed to make an afternoon doctor visit. On the way to the doctor, unbeknownst to me, my darling infant, Zinnia, had the poop of her life, soiling her diaper and pants thoroughly. I cleaned her up on the doctor’s examining table and of course had no other clothes for her but a diaper, shirt and flimsy sweater. It was February, and raining. As the doctor examined Ella, she breezily pointed out the glob of poop I somehow missed on the exam table. Thanks, honey, for being so observant.

After leaving the doctor, I wondered how I can slip over to TJ’s to complete my shopping list. It’s only a few items, and I can wrap up Zinnia in my jacket. Bad idea. TJs is ALWAYS crowded, but uncommonly so tonight. Ella insisted on her own cart. What I normally think is cute, turned disastrous as she headed down each aisle energetically, as if it were her own private pinball machine and the shoppers her bumpers. “So sorry,” I called over my shoulder to each victim in her path. Fellow moms nodded compassionately, others rolled their eyes, and older folk expressed pure dismay as they hopped out of Ella’s way. Meanwhile, Zinnia kicked off the jacket and her sweet, pink and overexposed flesh garnered some disapproving glances – can you believe that mother takes her baby out like that – in this weather!

I ignored them all and rolled up to the checker, exhausted. Ella wanted the pink balloon floating serenely above. As I began to unload our cart, she noticed a purple balloon halfway down the line of check stands. She screeched in a voice that could be heard in the far reaches of the parking lot, “Noooooooo Mommmmmmyyyy, I want the purple ballooooonnnn!” She didn’t wait for my answer, but cranked her cart backwards and down the aisle. By now I’d lost my game face. My shoulders slumped in defeat. The TJ checkers had seen this before and graciously grabbed the purple balloon for Ella, saving the day.

Once in the car, I took a few deep breaths and reflected over what happened to me in the past six hours. I silently began my chant again, “Expect the unexpected,” “It’s motherhood, anything goes,” and I wondered what tomorrow would bring.