A tallish stringy-haired chubby girl in too-big Crocs sprawled on the floor beside me.
She looked at me and saw me looking at her, all youth and innocence and hurt and she ran to her Mother. Buried her face in her neck and it ached within my bones.
She cried loud and dramatic, like a child. I stood there frozen. I wanted to push my cart away and leave. I offered to get someone, was she hurt?
Her Mom whispered thank you and then mouthed I just think she's embarrassed.
I understood. As a Mom. As a little girl. And I wished I could have told her I fall, too.
I'm embarrassed from a hundred too many falls. In my too big shoes in my too big life.
I want to hide my face and cry in my Mom's arms every minute of every day sometimes. But I'm the Mom, and I'm the arms. The weight of things is just too much. The lightness hurts even more. The spinning, the bills, the dishes, the sticky floor.
Wounded and vulnerable and understanding in the peanut butter aisle and even that's too much.
Subscribe to my blog here
Twitter me- I'm babysteph