In the spotlight

Today while trying to shop at the Farmer's Market, my son flipped out. He wanted to pick up, squish, and play with all of the expensive organic food. He's really into container play right now, and all those bins are just giant containers to take out and put in. Again and again. He was probably also tired and a bit overwhelmed by the crowd. My refusal to let him grab tomatoes, combined with his fatigue, was a powerful recipe for disaster. A mistake not to be repeated, for sure. He was hard to control, even in the stroller.

While trying to calm him and pay for our food, I got the bitchiest of looks from another woman, not a hint of compassion in it. She said, 'What's wrong with him?" I said, "He wants to grab all the food out of the bins and I won't let him." She continued her rude look and said, "There's something else wrong," implying with her tone of voice that I was a Bad Mother who did not know what her child needed. (And indeed, often I do not know what he needs, since he is non-verbal and does not even point, say, to his tummy or head to tell me that they hurt.) I blurted out, "He's special." She looked at me, like, "Yeah, right." Then I said, "No. Really. Special." This clearly made no impression. Then again, it was a vague communication. But it was the best I could come up with while paying for food, listening to my screaming child, at the end of a long day, while high on cold medicine.

Next time, I'll try to be prepared with one of Fraxa's nifty cards. I don't know why I should care what a stranger thinks, or feel the need to explain. Quinn and I have gotten curious looks before, but never an outright rude and judgmental one, and I'm surprised and saddened by how much it stung. I guess I'll just have to build up a thicker skin and carry around those cards.