So there I am, singing that godforsaken Wiggles song "Hot Potato, Hot Potato" as I wheel Carter and a cart full of groceries into the checkout line. Note, I didn't say buggy, despite how much cuter I think that word is than "shopping cart."
So there I am singing, probably shaking my ass and most definitely making a complete fool of myself so that Carter will, for one full minute, stop trying to dive head first from the cart in a kamikaze act of gravity defiance, pulling every single trashy magazine from the nearby racks down with him.
Let's be honest, perhaps half of that scenario isn't a bad thing. I can't stand to bear another look at Kim Kardashian and her Neverending Story-esque inspired headpiece.
I quickly notice a woman rolling up in line behind me. I make the usual mental note of "if you don't smile and talk nicely to my adorable child, you have no heart" and I continue "Hot Potato-ing" away. Can you believe it? There are actually heartless people at the grocery store who ignore my smiley, chatty and ridiculously adorable child.
Until I hear said woman ask a question. "He's adopted, right? Your son? Is he adopted?"
Pause. Because she can't possibly be talking to me.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting Brangelina or a similar lookalike family to have joined us in line.
Nope. It's just me and the stranger. The stranger who flat out just asked me if Carter was adopted. In a grocery store.
To be honest, I was so caught off guard that my mouth may have been left hanging ajar for a second or two. Until I was able to pull myself together and mumble a reply, "Carter? Oh, no. He, uhh, umm, looks like his Daddy. His Daddy is blonde."
Now, I've had plenty of passersby ask, "is your husband blonde?" or "where does your son get his coloring from?" and I'm okay with that. I've accepted the fact that although I grew a human being and carried his 9lb 10oz self around for months on end, he may not come out looking anything like me. I get it.
But there are certain respectful ways you can ask a complete stranger why her apparent child looks nothing like her.
What if C had been adopted and was capable of understanding those words? What was I to do? Casually break it down for him in the checkout aisle that he was, in fact, part of another family first? Or lie?
And hello, have you ever heard of hair dye? I mean, what if I was really Barbie Blonde underneath this head of brown tresses? It wouldn't be the craziest thing to have happened!
It's true. For a single moment, I wanted to kidney-punch that lady behind me in the checkout aisle. She must've left her tact back in aisle nine.
Happy Thursday, Loyals!