The thing about these little people is that you might say or do something and not think it's a big deal, but then later it comes back to haunt you and you suspect that you probably should have handled it differently, and by that time it is too late because you are really embarrassed in the middle of the grocery store checkout line and there is no going back.
In case you were wondering whether or not it really matters what you do and say in front of a toddler, let me go ahead and clear this up for you right now. They are watching you. They are watching you, and they are waiting for just the right moment to proudly show off to the world what they have learned, in a way that you never intended.
Let me back up for a second.
I have this pink Coach wristlet-wallet-thing. Caroline loves it, probably because it is shiny. She loves all things shiny, in fact. She is definitely a girly girl. Every time she sees the wallet, she grabs for it, and I say "oh, Caroline, is that your Coach?"
So, the two of us are in the checkout line at Stop and Shop. We are alone because Tyler is in South Africa for three weeks, by the way, which sucks big time. I'm trying to put our groceries on the conveyor belt while also trying to keep Caroline from climbing out of the cart and/or stealing seven copies of People magazine. I hand her my wallet to keep her calm, because that never fails, right? She shows it to the lady behind us and declares, "Coach."
The lady (who seems to have a stick up her butt anyway) looks at me disdainfully and says "you taught your baby to say Coach??"
Me: "What? No."
Caroline: "Coach! Coach! Coach! Coach!"
Then she manages to unzip the wallet and pulls out my credit card. She waves it around, yelling "I got! I got!" and then she starts slamming it against the credit card machine like she is trying to swipe it. How in the heck do they learn these things?? I take the card from her and she melts down, of course, so I pull her out of the cart and put her on my hip while I attempt to continue to purchase my groceries like a normal person. She twists around and grabs for the magazines again, and the magazine stand teeters and comes crashing down, narrowly missing the uptight lady, and hits the candy/gum stand so that that also crashes to the floor, like dominoes. It was like they were toppling over in slow motion and I was diving for it (with Caroline still on my hip) yelling in a deep, slowed-down voice, "NOOoooo..."
So. I am mortified. Caroline squeals in delight. The lady behind me heaves a big sigh and looks at us like we are something disgusting she just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. She starts packing her groceries back into the cart so she can head to a different, less disastrous, checkout line. I wildly start scooping up candy and gum while apologizing profusely to the cashier, and she rolls her eyes and says "we'll get it. Just go."
I decide that this is the best course of action (before my child somehow manages to burn down the store, killing everyone inside) and go to stick Caroline back in the front of the cart so I can actually push the thing. She stiffens her legs and locks her knees, which she has NEVER done in the entire history of her life, which is the entire reason we are starting physical therapy, and refuses to get back in the cart. So I am awkwardly taking forever to stuff my kid in the cart while my ice cream is melting and the maintenance people are coming to clean up the huge mess and I am still apologizing.
I did get out of there eventually, in case you were wondering. Thank you for asking. I may or may not still be beet-red from mortification, though. And I am pretty sure we might have to switch grocery stores.