Pension day and the Baby

Must have been the day (or week) that the pension was handed out.

Desperate – once again – for a grocery shop, I picked Godzilla up from kinder, and off we went, to the supermarket.

Chippie in tow. Fun, fun, fun!

Godzilla was in charge of the shopping list. Mostly because my hands were full of baby, green bags of varying colours, wraps, spew cloths and a loose sock.

Hands full, I attemtped to wrangle one of those shopping trolleys with a baby seat away from the rest of them. Several were engaged in some sort of shopping trolley sexual intercourse, and as I didn’t have a glass of cold water or garden hose (and couldn’t have utilised either if I did have one at my disposal) they would not seperated.

I must have looked a sight, carrying baby and additional paraphernalia in one hand, the handle of a shopping trolley in the other, and my foot on the handle of the shopping trolley it was being intimate with, attempting to seperate the two. All whilst ensuring Godzilla didn’t wander off, or worse, lose the shopping list.

Eventually managed to secure an appropriate trolley whislt a bunch of old people watched on, and corporate types tutted and hastily grabbed their own trolleys around me. Placed baby blanket on the seat (to avoid germy things happening) and secured Chippie, who promptly woke and commenced sucking on the manky, germ-ridden, ill-fitting restraint. I’m all for natural immunisation, but you have to draw the line somewhere. Sucking on a shopping trolley baby seat restraint goes way beyond that line.

Ready to go, lost shopping list located inside one of those stupid ride things that people put out the front of shopping centres for the entertainment of bored staff. There must be some pleasure in watching a harrassed mother deal with a tantrummy child in crowded places.

Attempt to enter supermarket proper, only

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