Page 68 of Finding the Pieces

Acting on impulse, I step to the side, and as gently as I can so I don’t jostle Luca in his seat, pull the cart away from her until I’m standing between her and Luca. My stomach is in my throat and I don’t recognize my voice, like my ears are plugged. My heart starts racing, and I swear I can hear its pulsing beat.

“You need to get away from my son and me, right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, fucking excuse you. Excuse you for inserting yourself into something that’s none of your goddamn business. If you ever get the impulse to offer unsolicited parenting advice and thentake a binkie from a toddler, I strongly encourage you to seek professional help because you’ve lost your mind worse than I have.”

Her expression turns cold, her nose upturned, her hand clutching her honest to god pearls.

But I’m not done.

“Listen, lady, it’s the binkie or the tit that’ll keep him calm while I pay for my groceries. Which would you rather I pull out,ma’am?” My voice has a bite and I let it sharpen, grateful for whatever strength has found its way forward so I can deal with this absolute asshole.

“Wow,still breastfeeding too. Unbelievable. It’s just awful, thinking you can speak to someone like that. How crass.”

“Crass?” I choke out in disbelief. What a fucking bitch.

“Is there a problem here?” a woman asks me. She appears to be in her forties and is standing alongside the teen cashier who had begun our transaction, I’m assuming his manager.

I angle my body protectively toward Luca, my eyes darting around to see people are staring at me and the mystery bitch behind me. My face heats with embarrassment and my eyes begin to burn.

“I would love to check out as quickly as possible,” I say. I do not want to bethatcustomer. I need to get out of here without making things difficult for the employees.

“Of course,” she replies, helping to finish our transaction without another word from the asshole behind me.Thank god.Afterward, the employee walks us to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” I sputter nervously. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

“Please, if someone said that to me when my son was that age, I would have gotten kicked out of this store. Don’t let it ruin your day, okay? You take care.” She walks back into the store, the automatic doors closing before I can thank her for being so understanding.

She seems completely unfazed by the entire interaction, but my hands are shaking. I buckle Luca into his car seat, load the groceries as quickly as possible, and then drive us home. My check engine light pops up mid-drive becauseof course it fucking does.

I spend the ten-minute drive ruminating over the entire exchange, my hands still shaking on the steering wheel.

I am safe. We are safe.

My feeble attempt to calm myself down fails. Anger burns again at the thought of that woman passing judgment on a complete stranger and her insane lack of boundaries.What the fuck is wrong with people?

She took one look at me and spoke as if she knew my story. She assumed I’m some terrible mother just because I’m doing things differently than shewould. I’m already insecure; I sure as fuck don’t need strangers vocalizing their disapproval to me in the grocery store of all places.

What is it about being a mom that makes people think they can force their opinions on you like it’s some kind of favor, then act like you’re the unreasonable one for making your own decisions?

Sure, there are some universal truths to parenting, but I don’t think I’m wrong in thinking most of us are doing the best we can. A little bit of empathy would be nice.

My own reaction shocked me. If Luca wasn’t there and someone was being critical and confronting me about it, I’d most likely brush it off and not engage.

One step toward my son was all it took, and I finally understood “the momma bear” instinct, because I was ready to rip that woman apart.

We get home and I manage to get Luca inside and set up with his toys in his play area while I unload the groceries and get his lunch ready. I also try to flip the laundry, only to discover that I left the wet clothes in the wash and forgot about them who knows how long ago. I restart the washer and fluff the clothes in the dryer, begging my own brain to remember to flip the laundry at some point tonight to avoid having to do this same thing again tomorrow.

It’s Friday and I’m off work today. We normally grocery shop as a family on Saturday mornings, but I thought it’d be a nice surprise for Dom if we had the morning off from errands and we could spend that time together relaxing at home. That plan bit me in the ass quick.

This is the annoying part of anxiety. You have one bad experience and your brain says,See? I told you. You shouldn’t take Luca out on your own. Look what happens.I want to be able to do things on my own with my son, but one shitty interaction has the power to undo all the confidence I’m trying to build.

Luca’s getting another tooth, so he’s extra fussy during lunch today. The usual things that make him happy aren’t cutting it. He’s frustrated and I’m doing my best to hang on as we struggle through mealtime, most of the food ending up on him, the floor, and my shirt—which I just bought and is most likely now ruined by blackberry stains. Do I own clothes that aren’t stained anymore?

After I clean up lunch, Luca and I sit in the living room playing with his toys. I can feel myself going through the motions, not totally present but not completely absent either. I smile at Luca, we sing, we play, but my head keeps tossing me back into that moment where that complete stranger made me feel like the shittiest mom in the world…all because of a stupid binkie.

I want to shake it off, but confrontation makes me anxious regardless of context. Confrontation where I feel like my son is in the middle? Fuck, I’m stuck in a destructive loop of thinking worst-case scenarios of how it all could have gone differently.

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