Losing It

In honor of National Donut Day, which was yesterday but whatever, I promised Amelia we’d get donuts for breakfast this morning. She was so excited this morning that I was able to get her to get herself dressed, including putting pants on—which never happens. Granted, they were two inches too short and a might snug around the middle, but she was so proud, I just let it go. She had on shoes and even a sweater before I got out of bed. I loaded her into the car and off we went. There is only one donut shop in town and I decided to head there rather than settle for second-class grocery store varieties. We don’t get donuts but maybe twice a year so you may as well make it right. As we were driving, I realized I’d made a wrong turn. No big, we’ll just keep going. The thing about this new town of ours is that it is small. Everything is just a few miles a way at most . . . BUT it’s intertwined by two highways and a series of interconnected but not through streets. It’s a mess and for whatever reason, I haven’t figured it out yet. I am usually pretty directionally inclined, but since we’ve moved here, I’ve gotten lost more times than I can count. Not necessarily lost as much as taken a very long route to get somewhere relatively close. And the weird thing is that sometimes I get exactly where I’m going without a problem. Other times, I can’t find my way down the street. Well, today was one of those days. It didn’t help that it was pouring outside, already greying my mood. So we drove and turned around and turned around and drove. The excited chatter behind me stopped asking if we were close to the donut shop and when I looked back at Amelia, she was driving an imaginary steering wheel into a u-turn.

I’m not proud of it, but it took us almost 40 minutes to get there. The donut shop is probably about 7 miles away. I can’t explain it and it’s ridiculous, but that’s it. My kid, thankfully, is a cheery soul who was just happy to be on a fun outing. It seemed like forever for such a silly errand. Donuts shouldn’t be an hour-long adventure.  We run out of the car and into the packed shop, getting soaked along the way. The line was wrapped around the store and to the front entrance, where we waited with anticipation. Amelia peered into the cases, carefully picking out the donut she wanted best. I couldn’t decide what to get or what Justin wanted, so I made the executive—and ridiculous—decision to just get a mixed dozen instead of 3. We finally got to the front of the line and the lady appeared miffed that we wanted a variety. The line was still long behind us and I had a 3-year-old on my hip helping me choose. This all included her going to the back for fresh maple bars (J’s favorite) and the line growing longer. With 12 donuts finally and neatly stacked in the lovely pink box, I reached for my wallet.

And it wasn’t in my purse.

I’d left it out last night after registering Amelia for swim lessons. I knew exactly where it was and it was not available to pay for the donuts. I looked at the donut lady and told her I didn’t have my wallet. She was visibly pissed. I asked her if I could come right back (even though it took me almost an hour to get there to begin with) to pick up the box. She said no because then other customers couldn’t have those donuts to choose from.

I grabbed Amelia’s hand and walked out of the teeny-tiny-packed shop with my head down. Just as we reached the door, Amelia asked, “What about my donut?!” and started crying as we walked to the car. She cried all the way to the car and when I picked her up to buckle her in, I saw her huge, crocodile tears. The sadness after such anticipation and excitement. I tried to tell her that I didn’t have my wallet to pay for them and that we’d have to come back, but she’s 3. And she’d watched the lady put her donut in the box and then we left—without it.

I got into the driver seat, put my face in my hands and just cried. Sobbing, choking, snot-bubbling tears. And Amelia cried right along in the back seat. It’d taken us so long to get there and she was so excited we waited in that line and picked out the perfect assortment and it was so humiliating and I’m so tired and this stupid cold won’t go away and I’m so goddamn pregnant and the stupid rain is ruining everything and it just . . . sucked. And I knew that she was just crying about a stupid donut, but I felt so bad for her because she was excited in a way that only a preschooler could be about something as simple as a chocolate sprinkled donut. And I thought it was such a heartbreaking scene, taking her by the hand out through that line of people as she cried after she’d been so patient with my stupidity in getting us there. I just fell apart.

Sometimes it really sucks to be the mommy.