My New Years Resolution: Putting My Kid First

Flowers Fall

by Bethany Saltman, January 27, 2010

A couple months ago, I had the opportunity to be somebody else, someone we’ve all seen before. It was during the pre-holiday winter madness, in Kingston, at Adam’s Fairacre Farms. At the time, I had no idea that I was entering the realm of the illusory Other. All I was aware of was this: Body aching from a long day of negotiations with my three-year-old, Azalea, in Target, public bathrooms, her car seat, the produce aisle, etc. Standing in the checkout line, piling on the food for several upcoming festivities, I was vaguely aware of how this was all supposed to be fun, thus a mild disappointment was settling in my shoulders. I was also aware of said three-year-old, standing in the grocery cart, leaning over dangerously, trying to put the kale on the conveyer belt, while the wheels of the cart moved away in the opposite direction, and I was aware of my repetitive fear-fantasy that she would come toppling over onto the ground, head cracking, anticipatory tension squeezing me even tighter.

And then the mounting pressure of people behind us sighing heavily at how long we were taking. The tightness in my jaw and a slight buzzing around my temples, brewing anger at the people who were rushing me, and then my ill-fated attempt to hurry a toddler and remove her from her position of authority both in the cart and in my life, which just invigorated her need to be “helpful” by grabbing hold of the bag of delicate (expensive!) porcini mushrooms, squishing them in her haste, which just totally pissed me off, so I grabbed the bag from her, which made her cry really loudly, wailing, “THAT HURT MY FEEEEELINGS!!!!” which is when the (evil) checkout lady started sending me some serious vibes, as did other people around me, glaring at me as if I had actually hit the child instead of just grabbed some gourmet items out of her hand, then ignored her. I remembered a friend of mine (childless) describing a mom in a store and how she just refused to pick up her screaming kid. And how she was actually tempted to break the public sound barrier and say something to the effect of, “Look, just pick up your kid, okay? Is it really so hard?” But by this time, I was so totally disembodied I wouldn’t have been able to pick up a thread of saffron had I so desired.

After a few uncommonly frank exchanges with strangers, Azalea and I made it out of there. Once outside, I stopped the cart and picked her up. I re-embodied and apologized for snapping and being short. We hugged, then put the canned soup in the boxes outside for other people’s holiday dinners. And we drove home together, repairing.