The wild west-co

There we were, parked in the middle of the aisle, a sort of supermarket traffic calming island if you will, in a stand-off worthy of a saloon bar. Have you got that western music in your head? Doo doo, do do do, doo doo, do do do do. We were surrounded by sweetcorn and hobnobs rather that spit and sawdust, but I certainly had.

The location - Tesco. The problem - my hands on the bar of the supermarket trolley.

It started well. T was in the small seat, legs swinging, raisins in hand. Happily we pushed along ...

chewing raisin
point
NANA!
we don't need bananas today darling
NANA, NANA, NANA, NANA!
you don't like bananas darling, you ask for them and I peel them and then you just smush them into the table
NANA, NANA!
more raisins
ABBLE!
we've got apples at home darling
CHEESE!
yes darling, Babybel. They're like bananas, the packaging's more exciting than what's inside

It was my mistake of course. One packet of raisins is never enough. We'd managed fruit and veg, dairy, meat and tins, only a quick whizz round breakfast cereal, bread and loo roll to go and my distraction had disappeared. Half into T's tummy, the other half onto the floor, leaving a trail that would be handy to follow on our way back to the exit should we suddenly lose our way in the pet food aisle.

I stopped to consider Weetabix options. Yes, my life is this sad now. I weighed up the 'premium', own brand and value boxes for added sugar and price. Selection made, I put 48 in the trolley (Weetabix this is, not boxes) and started to push off towards the checkout. T screamed. Loudly. He pushed my hands off the trolley bar. MINE. I put my hands next to his on the orange plastic. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. MINE. MINE. People were turning to look now, and he had started to cry. I folded my arms. Darling, we're not going to get very far if I can't push the trolley. MINE. I tried to put my hands on again. MINE, MINE, NO, NO, NO. He pushed my hands out of the way. I stood back. Fine, we'll stay here until you let me push the trolley then. He squirmed in the seat, unwilling to accept this ultimatum. Other shoppers swarmed by, tutting as they negotiated past my ridiculous parking, and I pretended to browse the museli.

After five minutes I'd had enough. I reached for the bar again. Have you calmed down now? NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. MINE. He pushed my hands off again. There was nothing for it, I put my hands over his and steamed towards the checkout. He screeched like the world was coming to an end. There's something about pushing a screaming child, in a pushchair or trolley, which makes me die a little inside. It's the looks I think. Shopping paid for, flung into bags at random, bread squashed underneath tins of chickpeas we headed back to the car. I lifted T into his seat. CAR! Yes darling, the car. It was as if the stand-off had never happened.

Oh to have the short memory of a toddler. I am ashamed to show my face in Tesco ever again.