 |
|
|
|
2005-06-10 - 3:15 p.m. I circled the grocery store parking lot twice until I spotted one. The dual exhaust, turbo, fuel injected, double steering wheel grocery cart. A �must have� for every toddler. After a quick wipe down with my package of Clorox wipes � stowed in the car specifically for this purpose � I placed a very excited and big-eyed little boy behind one of the wheels. Gavin �revved the engine� a couple of times jerked the wheel intensely back and forth and we were off. It became suddenly apparent after �driving� only a couple of feet that the left front wheel was slightly askew. Of course this was like saying the Hindenburg was a little bit on fire in places. Maybe it will stop, I thought to myself, continuing onward. As I turned down the toothpaste aisle our presence was immediately heralded by deafening rattling and banging. Conversations stopped and we were met with more than a couple of annoyed glances. I maintained the air that I didn�t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. What? Doesn�t EVERYONE�S grocery cart replicate a 747 being chased by a tornado? By this point Gavin�s little head was leaning out the �car window� searching for the source of this cool noise! �Don�t look at it, son!! We don�t hear that!� Switching to a traditional cold metal cart, sans steering wheel(s), was not an option after having already experienced the car cart. I opted for a noisy cart over a noisy, pissed off toddler. I roared down a couple more aisles when suddenly I saw a vacant car cart seemingly abandoned by the greeting cards with a heavenly ray of sunshine cast upon it from above. Did I just hear harps and a choir of angels, I wondered? I quickly glanced around for any possible owners before bringing our �muffler-less, back firing heap� to a screeching halt. �Hurry,� I frantically instructed Gavin. I quickly tossed him into the driver�s seat, buckled him up, threw my box of toothpaste into the new cart, and hastily peeled out to evade discovery of our cart jacking. Ahhh � beautiful silence! This thing ran like a champ! That is until I attempted to turn out at the end of the aisle. We slid sideways a couple of feet nearly plowing down an elderly woman innocently perusing a display of garden gnomes. I may as well have been trying to maneuver a train engine into a 90� turn across a sheet of ice with my bare hands. �Sorry,� I winced. Another tally to be added to the collection of �Dismayed Expressions on Account of a Faulty Grocery Cart.� I quickly realized that if I wanted to do any kind of polite steering that I would have to anticipate my turns several yards ahead of time, and I would have to walk to the front of the contraption at each turning point to guide it along. Had I so desired I could have pushed the cart completely sideways, taking up the entire aisle without any trouble. Serious wheel issues were at hand, but at least they weren�t piercingly obvious to shoppers clear on the other side of the store. Without any miraculous replacements suddenly at my disposal, I was forced to muscle this run away tank throughout the rest of the aisles. After an hour and twenty minutes of this, I finally dragged myself to a check out lane. I bagged my groceries amidst shrill demands for �canny� and �dis� (pointing to strawberries traveling down the belt) and �munny� (pointing at my wallet). I managed to keep my cool with the reassurance that our shopping extravaganza was drawing to an end. Once we were finally back in my 350� car I still felt the instinct to begin a turn 100 yards beforehand -- utilizing only the rear wheels. The ability to properly and successfully steer something was given a whole new appreciation. I was relieved that William was home from work to unload the trunk. After putting all of the groceries away in their designated spots I heaved myself and my big pregnant belly down on the couch, hoping that William would be able to put some shish kabobs on the grill without needing my assistance. Two weeks ago William encountered a beat up broken down car on the side of the road on his way from a job site. Its owner, a woman, waved him down for help. As she exited her vehicle it became apparent that this woman was also very pregnant. She took one last draw of her cigarette from her filthy hands before she explained to him that she had just changed the alternator in the damn thing, and would have pushed it to the next side street herself, but for her �delicate� condition. Sympathetically, William offered to help and commented that she shouldn�t be changing alternators being as pregnant as she was. Her response was, �I�m pregnant, I ain�t broke(n).� I�m glad he stopped to help her, and I�m sorry for the state of affairs she was in, but what the hell. Now suddenly the bar has been raised and MY best isn�t good enough. I�m constantly being reminded that things could be much worse. I could be broken down on the side of the road changing alternators. Yes, I could � but I�m not, so what is your point? My decision to lay down on the couch for a few minutes of much needed rest as opposed to doing the dishes, laundry and setting the table for a grand feast was completely scoffed at. Could I be anymore useless and lazy? Being pregnant around here obtains no special treatment or tender loving care. Shrug off that fatigue, throbbing back pain, aching hips and BE A MAN!!! I would love for him to be in my body for just one day. I�d come home from work to see an ambulance in our driveway, the paramedics wheeling him out on a stretcher, scratching their heads as to how a man could end up pregnant� I am what I am, and Superwoman-mom I�m not. My missing golden headband and lack of bullet proof bracelets should have been taken into consideration when he started dating me. I think I will go rest on the couch now.
Comments? Questions? Suggestions? Complaints? |