He threw it again.
“Okay,” I murmured. “We’re not doing that all afternoon.”
For about 30 seconds, he seemed to agree.
Then he started crying again.
A few shoppers glanced our way as I moved through the aisles.
Most gave me that familiar sympathetic smile parents give each other.
One older woman even leaned toward Mason and whispered, “Those teeth are giving you trouble, huh?”
Mason stared at her with wet eyes.
Then he started chewing on the edge of his sleeve.
“Definitely,” I said.
She laughed softly and continued down the aisle.
Little moments like that usually helped.
Being out with a crying baby could make me painfully aware of every person around me.
I knew his crying was irritating. It was irritating to me too, and I loved him more than anything.
Still, Mason wasn’t misbehaving.
He was a baby.
Babies cried.
I kept moving.
Milk. Yogurt. Eggs. Cheese.
