Either I’ve been delusional and those grey hairs aren’t coming in too early or there’s something about shopping with a toddler that brings on a fatigue unmatched by any college-era, there-’til-closing night at the bars.
J, Little Sis, Cousin T and I went to Wisconsin Dells to pay homage to the outlet mall, and instead of being excited about all my purchases at the end of the day, I was drained, and I only had six ramikins, five pairs of underwear, four Oshkosh-emblazoned items, two baking sheets and one squiggly, wiggly child to show for it. A squiggly, wiggly child that spilled milk all over his lap, chanted “NO!” loudly at the family seated to our left and spent all of the leftover time at Denny’s trying to get out of the booster seat and screeching over Cousin T’s touys. A squiggly, wiggly child that only got 45 minutes of good naptime on the drive back and STILL rattled the bars of his crib-jail until 9 p.m.
Now, I’m so overtired I can’t sleep. I’m calling it a shopping hangover. I’m ignoring the fact that I could just be getting old.
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