The Day My Best Friend Quit

The Day My Best Friend Quit

One day in Target, I tried to go shopping with my best friend.  It was just like any other normal day.  We hugged, we talked, we ate, we took a drive together.  Everything was good.  We smiled and laughed and I looked forward to our day.  But little did I know, something was brewing.  

I’m not sure what hurt more – the literal slap across my face or the figurative slap.  No, that’s a lie.  As much as my cheeks burned from the slap, the latter tore me to shreds.  I knew this day might come, but I buried the thought so deep that it truly came as a shock.  That’s when the horrible realization came flooding down on me in the baby-food aisle.  My best friend quit.  I quietly prayed this wasn’t the end, but the truth is, I couldn’t be sure.  My two-year old best friend turned into a “TERRIBLE TWO!”

Like a sad puppy, I walked through Target with my head bowed low and my tail between my legs.  I was horrified.  What was it that put me over the edge?  Was it the climbing around in the cart?  The wiggling out of the seat-belt?  The damn squeezy pouch fruit squirting all over my cart?  The bouncy ball that managed be thrown out three times with random shoppers stopping to catch it?  The screaming, “I want that truck? Or “I want a snack?”  Said snack spilling all over the check-out line…twice?  The repeated emptying of my wagon?  The crying?  The trying to jump out of the wagon and passerbys gasping “he’s going to fall!”? Or was it when half of my paid for and packed bags flew out of my cart and scattered across the Target exit like offerings to the Customer Service Gods?  

Mind you, the craft store didn’t work out well either.  My handsome little demon screamed the entire time we were in the store.  And I mean the entire time.  People were staring.  I tried to stay calm and stoic in the face of insanity, but my patience were wearing thin.  I abandoned half my cart and half my crafting ideas, paid, and ran.

In the car, he magically transformed back to a little angel and although when we got home he attempted to destroy every room in the house (board games dumped, sticker scattered, incessant opening and closing of the freezer demanding ice cream with his turkey and nuts and fruit), he was still being sweet and adorable.  He played nicely with our dog and gave me a few squeezy hugs.  

He behaved nicely at a playdate with his brothers’ friends despite his exploding poop diaper (sorry friend, Thanks for not judging my kid for eating ten bowls of your grapes and stinking up your home).  I braced myself for anything else horrible that might come my way as we exited the playdate with my son in socks, crocs, and a borrowed long t-shirt.

Dinner went along as usual until I realized he was sitting at the table without a diaper.  He just didn’t feel like wearing it anymore.  Time to potty train?  Maybe…  Diaper back on, my other two started fighting and my husband called just to say, “I’m leaving work,” even though he wasn’t coming home. (In his defense, I did ask that he call me when he leaves work, but I meant it to be used as a gauge for when he would arrive home, not as chat time during the witching hour).

Dinner over and kids upstairs getting out their jammies, my little guy comes running at me, again sans diaper.  

“Where’s your diaper?”  I asked with contempt.

“B’s room.”  He smiled.

“Did you make a pee-pee in his room?”  I pleaded for a no.

“Yes!  BIG ONE!” He smiled.

Oh my goodness.  Could my day end any worse!?  I ran upstairs, armed with supplies.  Hands filled with dry paper towels for soaking up the pee and wet paper towels with soap for washing the carpet, I exploded into my son’s room.  

“Where is the pee?” I asked.

“THERE!”  And with that, he grabbed his diaper from the floor and started dancing in circles before he threw it and ran.  I panicked, frantically searching the carpet and piles of toys for his big pee… But lo-and-behold, there was none.  Phew — crisis averted.  Silly naked boy on the run.
He is growing up and changing and asserting himself now.  If he would prefer to be in the market over Target, I need to brace for all hell breaking loose.  But did I really lose my best friend?  Of course not.  We will still have our cuddly sweet moments and he will always be my sweet, delicious boy.  My sweet, delicious boy with a very strong sense of self.  And I am okay with that… Target shoppers beware!