I think hospitals should issue new mothers an extra set of hands upon discharge. I’m just saying.
As if I need more proof (more than what I’m living), I get it today at Costco.
Struggling with her cart, the young mother attempts to shush her two giggling girls as she drags two industrial-sized boxes of diapers behind her. I feel for her. It wasn’t too many years ago that I was her.
The woman in front of me also sees the mother. She turns to me and gives a sympathetic shoulder shrug. “What can we do?” Her shoulders say. “I don’t want to lose my place in line.”
If there’s one thing I know about Costco, it’s this. There is absolutely no risk of “losing” your place in line because none move faster than a turtle. Plus, anyone wanting to jump the line would have to maneuver his cart around baskets full of 20 pounds of mayo and a wheelbarrow full of olive oil.
“I’ll push if you pull,” I say. Putting my back into it, I slide the diapers across the concrete floor while the woman pulls her cart of kids.
I turn back to my cart. My line hasn’t moved an inch. I shrug my shoulders at the woman in front of me. My shoulders say, “What else could I have done?”