Hit parade

On rainy days, such as the ones that Massachusetts is currently experiencing, one of my favorite oh-my-Christ-I'm-desperate-to-get-out-of-the-house destinations is the local Barnes and Noble. There I can drink my Starbucks grande vanilla iced coffee in relative peace while Chicky Baby crawls around the children's section or plays with the elevated train set while sucking on a wooden animal that has been infected with every known bacteria and virus from the last 50 children who have been there. Tuesday was one such day. A monsoon was brewing and my little Chicky is teething, has a diaper rash that looks like a bad case of scabies (its not, btw), and she's decided that two naps a day are for wussies. I had two choices with what to do with a child such as mine, and since trash day isn't until tomorrow off we went to the bookstore.

There I was, coffee in one hand, overpriced magazine in another, unbuckling my child from her stroller with my two extra hands (What, you didn't sprout a couple extra sets of limbs when you were giving birth to your kids?) all ready to settle in for 45 minutes of caffeinated bliss... When Chicky Baby decides she doesn't want to crawl around the filthy floor. She doesn't feel like ripping the strategically placed merchandise off of the low shelves. Does she want to sit in my lap and read some books that we have no intention of buying? No. Does she want to play with the ebola-laced trains? No. Does she want Mama to stick her with pins? No. No. NO! She wants to have a Toddler Tantrum. Oh goodie. So with coffee in one hand, backpack over the other shoulder, magazine discarded in the "Young Adult" section, I start to strap Miss Pussface back into her stroller so we can get the hell out of Dodge before someone calls DSS on me for clearly beating my child - because why else would she be screaming bloody murder - when up walks another Mom and her gorgeous 20-month old son. And, like magic, my 12 month old toddler turns into a giggly 15 year old girl.

This doesn't bode well for the future, but it gives me a respite from the tantrum. We takes what we gets.

Leaving Chicky in her stroller to smile coyly at this stunning child with the most amazing rockstar hair I have ever seen I sit back down, pick up my coffee and start a conversation with the mom. We discuss the weather, how the other large bookstore in the area doesn't have a nice children's area like this one, the merits of Gymboree vs. The Little Gym (I've never been to either but according to my new best friend its the Little Gym all the way). I steal a glance at my child who is now clearly in a love induced coma. Should I take her out to play? Do I dare? Throwing caution to the wind I let her down and she scurried off to steal toys from her new senior prom date. Just imagine the pictures! Is it too early to order a boutonniere?

The incident leading up to what happened next is slightly hazy. I must have called her name, because Chicky turned around to look at me and when she did her tiny boyfriend decided to give her a love tap. WHACK! He smacked her right on the top of her head. Hard. I think you could hear the smack all the way over in the self help section. His mother jumped up as if shot out of a cannon to quickly put a stop to the abuse. And Chicky? She had a look on her face like "Eh. That was nothing."

So I said to the mom, who was mortified, "Eh. That was nothing. She's around other kids all the time... and you should see what our dogs do to her." The poor woman apologized and said how nice and understanding I was and how she was ready to separate our two young lovers (which is always a bad idea. Hadn't she ever read "Romeo and Juliet"?) and leave the store. I assured her that it was fine, they're babies and don't know any better. Sit. Stay. Chat with me awhile longer.

We talked for another 5 minutes but the magic was over. Chicky and I said our goodbyes and sighed over what might have been.

The incident troubled me on the ride home. I got the distinct impression that this had happened to that mother and child before. It seemed to me that she had been in a similar position where she was made to feel badly for her sons exuberant attention-getting skills and subsequently left in shame. Young toddlers hit. Its not usually out of anger or aggression. In this case the boy was just trying to get my daughter's attention. Being the sometimes too laid back mother that I am I wondered (for about a minute) if I should have been more concerned for my kid and run to her. Coddle her. But I grew up in a family whose favorite phrase was "Suck it up" and I don't see myself ever running to her defense in that type of situation. Besides, she hardly even noticed and she wasn't crying and there don't seem to be any lasting effects (except I caught her yesterday trying to scratch the boys name into the back of her hand). So, blog friends, I post this question to you:


As the mother of a young toddler... What would you have done in my position, or the other mother's? What would you do if your toddler was hit by another child or, vice versa, if your child was doing the hitting? Would you be offended or brush it off? Would you feel the need to completely remove your child from the area if he/she was the hitter or the one who was hit?



I'm very interested to hear what your thoughts are on this. But now I have to run. I think I hear Separate Ways coming from Chicky Baby's room. These little girls. They grow up so fast.