The Club

Anyone who is a parent is part of this club.  Any adult who loves a child is part of this club.  Any adult who has ever gone out in public with a child is part of this club.  Older siblings will never understand this (or at least I didn't) and most people will miss it entirely unless they are part of the interaction.  Yes, I am talking about that most sacred acts of passage, that most noble rite, that impossible, that immeasurable, I've finally realized that I'm part of it- yes, I am talking about the club.

There are many restrictions to the club- for being such an open group we have very defined rules.

1) You must love a child more than anything, including but not limited to, your sleep cycle, your ego, and your sanity.
2) You must have taken this child out in public.
3) You must have been embarrassed by said child at least once in public.

If there are any more qualifications I have yet to discover them.

I found out about the club a few weeks ago I went to the store with two little girls.  To be fair it was the fourth stop on what was allegedly a short trip of errands but that had turned into an all morning event.  They were amiable, chatty, pleasant even, but the moment we parked the car in front of HEB I was wishing I was the toddler!!!!  We passed through the magic doors and immediately I heard cries of, "Gabbie, can we have a big cart?  Gabbie, can we have one with a car?  Gabbie, will you push us?  Gabbie, why not!?!?!!"  I could expound about the rest of the trip but let me reassure you that we could not go more than three feet without hearing BOTH of them scream that they wanted something.

Finally (blessedly) we got to the checkout line and my eyes started to wander.  Alright, I was really trying to zone out my smalls, but you understand.  I was hoping that everyone around us was blissfully ignorant of the noise that the little people were making but I was sadly disillusioned.  I was moping about this and that, dear readers, is when I saw him.  A kind looking gentleman, older than Tia and Tio, but younger than my parents, caught my attention.  He was trying desperately to not crack a smile, and was failing miserably.  Then our eyes met and in an instant I knew what he was thinking.

He was thinking, It's gonna be okay.  I've been there.  This age isn't forever.  Things will get better.  No one cares if they are a little noisy, they're kids and you are tired.  I mulled this over for a minute and then I caught that attempt to hold back a smile and realized he was saying one more thing.  Thank GOD it's not me. 

Well dear, kind sir, thank you for cheering me up.  Thank you for not glaring as if my very presence with my smalls was insulting.  Thank you for being a source of camaraderie and thank you for reassuring me that someday (some blissful day!!!) they will outgrow this stage, but next time, dear sir, could you try not to gloat so much.  Some of the gloat dripped onto the floor.