It All Begins With a Squeaky Wheel

Saturday morning I took a good hard look at Amelia's gums in an attempt to figure out why the whole week had been...less than ideal. There were three little molars barely poking through her gums. Three! Molars! In one week! This explains so much.

I realize that only a mother thinks that things like molars merit an entire blog post, but to me those little buggers affect everything at home. Amelia is the sun and I am her little planet orbiting around her. Let's extend the analogy and call molars asteroids. The sun is resilient and strong, she will withstand the molars. She will bounce back, sunny and happy. The planet is going to lose all intelligent life due to lack of sleep.

On Friday I took Amelia to run errands right after nap time, figuring a well-rested baby would handle the excursion better, but I made a fatal mistake. I went before lunch.

I should have known the whole thing would go wrong when we got a cart with a crazy wheel. Through the whole store the cart kept drifting right, right, right. I'm obviously a weakling because by the end of the trip my right bicep was aching with the effort to keep my cart from running down sweet old ladies and St. Patrick's Day displays. Amelia was entertained for a few minutes because I let her pick out a new toothbrush (I gave her two choices because I'm a superfun mom), and I let her hold it. Once she was done with her toothbrush, she wanted to get down and walk. We were almost done, and I couldn't keep track of her and steer the cart from heck. She started whining. I tried my best to talk in soothing tones. She started grabbing at her seat belt which came apart and then refused to clip back together. (Why is it that all Walmart cart seat belts are always broken?) The crying increased, she tried to stand up in the cart, I tried to use my forearm as a seat belt. Old men kept passing me and saying, "Oh, looks like the little sweetheart needs a nap." (Yes, there are a lot of elderly people at the grocery store because it is February and I live in Arizona.) I gave a weak smile and continued shopping. When it became clear that she was attempting to somersault out of the cart, I finally put her on the floor. She bee-lined it for a shelf full of little tiny jello packets and knocked an entire shelf to the floor. Cleaning up the jello, I ignored all the stares, picked her up (her screams intensified as she threw herself back and slapped my face repeatedly), and went to the checkout line.

The woman ahead of me in line let me go first. She told me she has six kids and she knows how I feel. While she unloaded my groceries she gave me tips on teething pain. Thank goodness for understanding moms everywhere.

Amelia kept crying through it all. Her face was all red and splotchy, just like mine gets when I sob too long. (Between my stinky feet, my splotchy face, and my cankles,
Amelia obviously won the genetic lottery.)

She saw a bird hopping across the parking lot on the way to the car, which made her start laughing. She gurgled the entire car ride, and, well, my face was a little splotchy by the time we got home.

Amelia's favorite thing to do when she's sad is to take selfies.