Today I took Will to Target so we could pick up some 12-month sleep and plays, some 18-month onesies, and some 2-3T socks. You know, for my five-month-old. 

(Naturally they have a very limited supply–read: nonexistent–of newborny items in toddler sizes. I couldn’t find ONE sleep and play bigger than 9 months, so I had to go to the big kid pajama display, and of course those were mostly short-sleeved even though WE GOT A FOOT OF SNOW ON MONDAY. Seriously, Greater Boston Target, where do you think you are? Repeat after me: I will not put away the long sleeves until May. I will not put away the long sleeves until May. I will not….)

I also scouted the sales and grabbed a cheap melamine plate-and-glass set for my peas-loving baby, and I threw them in with the rest of my items in the cart. Which also contained my son’s carseat, which (barely) contained my son. 

The stars were aligned so that Will woke up a mere minute before check-out: perfect. I pushed him through the lane, paid for the Malaysian Sweatshop Wardrobe for Gigantic Babies, and got out to my car. I have to add that while navigating the slushy, cramped parking lot, I was trying to nonverbally communicate that my shopping cart was more than a shopping cart but was also doubling as a baby stroller (hey, did I mention I forgot the stroller?), so, like, please don’t mindlessly back into me thinking that I ONLY have Malaysian Sweatshop Clothing, OK? Because I also have a Gigantic Baby in there.

I managed to get to my car incident-free…unless you count a baby who’s decided he hates waking up at Target and he’s going to tell you so by screaming as an incident. Or unless you count swindling five dollars from the Target till by inadvertently hiding three items items under a carseat an incident. 

At that point, mind you, I had an ang- and hun-gry child in the backseat, so I could either leave the unpaid-for stuff in a cart in the parking lot, where another customer might steal them on purpose–or I could take them home with me, tally up the stolen cash equivalent, and pay it the next time I’m at Target. Folks, that means in a week at latest, and possibly by tomorrow morning if this growth spurt keeps up.

My imagination did go into overdrive, as it usually does, and I pictured calling Target to tell them I’d accidentally stolen some melamine dishes, at which point in my head they’d demand that I come back, baby or no, slushpiles be damned, and pay for those items. What would I do? Under no circumstances would I have been able to drag Will (who at this point had gotten his teething fever back to 100 degrees) out again. See, I was indignant even in this imaginary exchange with Target customer service. 

Maybe I need a more active social life?

Unquestionably.

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