Thank You For Criticizing My Parenting

I should have known better than to bring then-almost-three-year-old Pumpkin to the grocery store just before dinner time.  A hungry tummy + a long day = meltdown, and in the supermarket, it's on display for a hundred of our fellow shoppers.

But a mom's day gets out of control sometimes.  Between meals and snacks, diaper changes, boo-boo soothing, and on top of all that, my eight-and-a-half-months-pregnant-induced exhaustion, we couldn't make it to the store before then.  We needed dinner.  And I needed ice cream (see "eight-and-a-half-months-pregnant," above).

I tried to be quick, knowing that Pumpkin's time was expiring like a parking meter's.  She was cranky.  I was cranky.  And then we passed the donuts.  "I want a donut!" she wailed.  "Pumpkin, it's too close to dinner, and besides, you've already eaten enough junk today."  Because a rational discussion always works with the preschool set.  "BUT I NEEEEEED A DONUT!" she protested.  And continued to protest, wailing, weeping, and eventually launching into full-on hysterics.  I tried to ignore it, wheeling around the aisles, but in the end, it was just too much.  I grabbed a box of Krispy Kremes and handed her one.  "I hope you'll stop screaming now," I muttered under my breath.  And just then, a woman passing by hissed, "We ALL hope she'll stop screaming now."

As I shot laser beams of death from my eyes in her direction, I wondered what the appropriate reply was.  Did I agree with her?  (I mean, I did.)  But seriously, did that woman just diss my kid?  And me?  What snarky retort could I hurl back at her?  How DARE she?  

I'm actually lucky to be fairly unaccustomed to this type of public, unsolicited criticism of my parenting.  That's not to say I'm a perfect parent; rather, I'm probably so terrifyingly inept that people are afraid to approach me, for fear that I will foam at the mouth and maul them to a slow, painful death.  (Just in case Child Protective Services is reading: I kid.  I'm probably somewhere between the two extremes.)  But what is it that compels seemingly ordinary strangers to offer up their advice and commentary? 

Pumpkin is probably too old to still use a pacifier at age three, but she still uses one to sleep, and makes me carry one around with us to use when she gets stressed out (sources of toddler stress include boo-boos, having toys confiscated by playmates, and being denied donuts and other sugary delights).  I know she's too old for it, but I indulge her.  She won't have it forever, and besides, she's bravely endured having her younger brother recently join our family - a MAJOR souce of toddler stress, even worse than donut-withholding.  But on more than one occasion, someone has commented that she's too old for it, because she's a Big Girl now.  And I want to throttle those people, because, really?  Do they think I don't know this?  I want to ask what their expert advice on paci-ditching is, want them to enlighten me on all their sage wisdom.  But I hold my tongue.

And even though I'm a seasoned pro when it comes to infants (working on #2 now!  what an expert I am!), I still get comments on what I'm doing wrong with my baby, Croc.  It was unseasonably warm in the DC area today, almost 70 degrees in early December, so I had him dressed in a lightweight, long-sleeved onesie.  But that wasn't enough for the little old lady we passed on the way into the pediatrician's office.  "That baby needs a hat!" she exclaimed.  

Grandma, I got your hat right here.  It's next to the donuts.  Leave me alone.

An original DC Metro Moms post.  Diana shares other tales of parenting ineptitude at Caffeinated.