Pants-Free Parenting | Admitting you've lost control is an art form

Lyz Lenz

The moment my infant son hit a girl in a wheelchair was the moment I knew: I am THAT mom. You know her, the woman who has no control over her kids. The one who is flying after a toddling little terrorist, mumbling apologies.

I was at a craft store, making some last-minute holiday purchases and made the mistake of letting my son out of the cart. By that point, he had wiggled out of the belt and was standing on the seat screaming, 'All done! All done!' Frankly, I was all done as well. I don't like craft stores and all their expectations. I always feel like a failure walking down the aisle. What do you do with 600 Popsicle sticks? I don't know. But apparently there are a lot of people on earth who do.

My son was screaming and would rather jump head first from the cart than walk down another aisle of buttons. So, I let him down. He turned to run, but his pathway was blocked by a really nice girl with two broken legs, being pushed by her father in a wheelchair. Frustrated by this impediment, my 17-month-old baby yelled and smacked the girl in the leg. She didn't flinch. So, I don't think any 9-year-olds were harmed in the making of this story. Still, I was mortified. I went to grab my baby and he screamed and prostrated himself on the floor in a blind rage.

I picked him up and he wailed louder. I apologized and tried to exit the store. Except, the lines at the registers were long. So, I struggled to hold him while he screamed, 'All done, mom! ALL DONE!' Finally, I set him down and he grabbed some candy and started shaking it like maracas. Since he wasn't harming a child in a wheelchair I let him be. The cashier stuck her head out to glare.

'Ma'am, did you know that your baby is playing with the candy?'

So nice of her to take time to judge me instead of, you know, hurrying up the line. This is another thing I don't understand about craft stores: they sell a cornucopia of projects for children and yet, they are the most child unfriendly place in the world.

'Oh wow,' I said flatly. 'I had no idea. Thank you for telling me.'

I took the candy. He grabbed more. I took that. He grabbed more. I picked him up and he screamed. By now, the entire store was staring at me. It didn't help that the father and daughter team were now in line two people behind us. I avoided eye contact. Finally, I slung my baby over my shoulder. His feet were waving in the air. He was laughing. A lady behind me said, 'Oh, well now he seems happy.'

Thank you, lady.

That's how I approached the check-out, dangling my giggling baby over my shoulder and pushing the cart with my hips.

The next day, this same child ripped a cabinet door off with his bare hands. To be fair, it was the door that accessed the garbage. So, it was his Mount Everest.

I'm beginning to realize that for the next couple of years, I should probably just never leave the house. And if I do, just know, I am THAT mom. No, I can't control my child. And I really am sorry.

l Lyz Lenz is a writer, mother of two and hater of pants. Email her at eclenz@gmail.com or find her writing at LyzLenz.com.