If it happens, it happens at the grocery store.

The first time it happened with my kids, I was hugely pregnant with Bridget, very close to delivery and completely exhausted. Those were the days when a then three-year-old Jacob still took naps. Against my better judgement, I had dragged my kids to Wegmans in the middle of the afternoon. For those who don’t know, Wegmans is the creme de la creme (thank you, Kristi) of grocery stores. It has every type of food and sundry item you might possibly imagine, including a playroom in which to place your children while you shop. The only catch is, of course, that you’re tethered to a beeper in case one of your kids happens to need you.

On this particular occasion, I had yet to make it through even half the store before my beeper alarmed and beckoned me back to reality. I vented a mental, crap!, and quickly wheeled my cart to the playroom. Jacob needs to go potteeee, said the attendant in what I thought, at the time, was the most annoying sing-song tone of voice ever. Remember, I was uncomfortably pregnant; pretty much everything pissed me off at that point, including a child who could not hold his bladder for an hour, even after having gone to the bathroom upon arrival to the store. Before long, I had both Hannah and Jacob walking next to me, neither of whom wanted to return to the playroom. Great.

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