I take comments personally, when I should’ve learned from my single years that people’s comments are a fact of life
But since last summer, a wave of anxiety washes over me when I enter Costco.
It started when I took the baby there for the first time. In order to get to the blueberries, carrots, and mushrooms, I had to enter the refrigerated hangars. It was quite refreshing for an adult on such a sweltering day, but suddenly the baby’s weather-appropriate attire became a deathtrap.
I carefully positioned the cart so I could keep my eyes on him while I backed inside the hangar, hands waving wildly behind me in an attempt to grab a bag of lettuce without looking. I’m watching him!
“Whose baby is this?”
“Mine! Mine! I’m watching him!”
Her disapproval was quite clear. “Someone could walk off with him, you know.”
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