I'm that mom.  You know...the mom you say you'll never become.  You find yourself behind a woman and her kid at the grocery checkout.  The kid is obnoxious.  He throws the entire box of Trident.  Mom reaches down to pick up the gum packets blanketing the tile just in time to meet a direct smack in the face.  You silently curse yourself because dude who chose the longest lane is checking out..  Now the little monster is trying to crawl out of the cart.  Plummet go the eggs and then he drops the "F-bomb."  You think that this mom needs some serious lessons on disciplinary techniques and say to yourself, "when I have kids, they will never behave like that."  When I was in my 20's, before I had Fischer, I had those thoughts. 

Even my friends who parent a "normal" toddler struggle at the grocery store.  I don't feel so bad when I hear about their toddlers' meltdowns or mishaps while shopping.   After we leave the store, Fischer becomes deregulated, seeks strong physical contact (like head-butting), and purposefully engages in inappropriate behavior.  SO not worth it.

Toddlers are constantly soaking in their surroundings; they are sensory seekers by nature.  Think about all the temptations the grocery store elicits;  the different colors, objects, textures, and sweet stuff.  Grocery shopping is time consuming and it's too much to expect a toddler to be patient.  Hell, I have a hard time being patient.

If I have no choice but to take Fischer, I engage him in some sensory play just before I leave.  (I prefer to self-medicate, but I need to be coherent when selecting fruit snacks.).  I digress; we play outside in the snow or sandbox to help curb the need to grab.   Since he's a big oral motor kid, I give him a sucker or make sure I bring along his chewelry to comfort him.  Saving Fischer the anxiety far outweighs getting whatever it is that I need.  So we're out of toilet paper, no big deal.  He hates the vaulted ceilings, the lighting, and the crowds at the grocery store.  I'm sure there are other sensory triggers that I have yet to pinpoint.  I can't stand half the people at the grocery store, so I prefer not to subject Fish.

I knew that something was "off" at 18 months.  Fischer used to remove his dirty diaper, soil himself in his feces, smell it, taste it, and paint it on his crib and the wall.  Kevin gagged and vomited (he works with animals, so really, what's the big deal?)  I called Pinot and she came to the rescue.  These incidents happened more than I care to discuss.  This among other issues warranted a trip to Fischer's primary care doctor where we were told, "he's just a boy."  Really? 

Age two rolled around and Fischer was in overdrive, nonstop.  And I mean nonstop.  We continued to have "incidents".  While I cleaned up one mess, he went to work on the next debacle, which usually involved breaking something cool.  His body craved sensations.  He sought out sharp and dangerous objects.  He was fast and destructive.  He put everything in his mouth; toilet paper, potting soil, deer poop, sticks, yellow snow.   When he was two and a half, he drank rubbing alcohol.  This time the doc said, "it's the terrible twos."  Things continued to escalate and traditional means of punishment did nothing for Fischer.  When Fischer turned 3, I still had to watch him like a hawk.  I had to carry him everywhere because he would run away as soon as his feet hit the ground.  He flailed and fought getting in and out of his car seat.  'No' meant absolutely nothing to Fischer.  We couldn't go visit anyone unless their home was completely child proof, and even those homes were not really "Fischer-proof". 

Breaking point...age 3.  It was the middle of winter and the ground was completely snow covered.  Fischer slipped outside without my knowledge and I couldn't find him.  I've never be so scared.  I found him in my car, barefoot, keys in hand, trying to start the car.  I brought him inside and ran warm water on his feet.  He didn't even notice that his feet were cold until we'd been in the house for five minutes, and he had frostbite.   Doc referred him to a behavioral specialist.  His under-reponse was more than strange behavior; he had a delayed reaction to pain.  I took him to an OT instead.  We discovered that he had sensory processing disorder and finally, a lot of things made sense.  No need to enter the lousy parent contest...at least, not yet..  It doesn't make it any easier, but it feels a hell of a lot better to know that I don't totally suck.