To the Supermarket Cashier who Mom-Shamed Me

Dear Supermarket Cashier,

Believe it or not I don't go to the grocery store for you to judge my parenting skills or question my toddler's abilities. I go there to check one very important thing off my to-do list: purchase food to feed my family.

It's typical for my public conversations with strangers to revolve around my toddler, so I didn't think much of it when the first thing you said as we approached, was, "How old are you?"

However, the next thing you said, after I told you that my daughter is 21 months old was, "You shouldn't have that in your mouth!" And that was not okay.

Yes, my 21-month-old daughter had a pacifier in her mouth at that moment. But you don't know how long we had been at the grocery store, or how our trip had gone up to the point we stepped in your line. You don't know the rules we have regarding my toddler's use of her pacifier. And it really doesn't matter. You have no say in whether my daughter has a pacifier in her mouth anyway.

I'd be willing to bet that you haven't taken care of a toddler since the middle of last century. So maybe you don't remember what it's like to try to entertain an active, curious toddler while you compare toilet paper prices and try not to forget which flavor CapriSun your older child asked for this week.

Some trips to the store are wonderful and easy, but most are challenging. Today, for instance, my toddler was determined to get out of the cart. She managed to stand up in the front seat, despite being buckled in, and was quite angry when I made her sit back down. She didn't sleep well last night because it was stormy, so she wasn't in the best mood. She was mad that I wouldn't let her hold the bread, and distraught over the fact that I told her she couldn't get a cookie from the bakery. So I broke down and let her have her pacifier so that my fellow shoppers didn't have to listen to her scream.

But your shaming didn't end there.

The next thing you asked was, "What's your name?"

I said, "Her name is Juliet."

And then you said, to my daughter, "If you can say your name, you shouldn't have that in your mouth."

And then I informed you, "She can't say her name."

You were aghast, and said, "SHE CAN'T?!"

And then I felt compelled to explain myself and my daughter and her abilities and to compare her to her early-talking sister in an attempt to make you believe that I am not a bad mom and she is not a bad kid.

I'm ashamed that I felt the need to do that. You didn't deserve an explanation, and I didn't deserve to be made to feel like I needed to provide one.

As we were leaving, I told my toddler to say goodbye to you. She looked at you and said nothing, and then looked to the friendly woman in line behind us, and very clearly said, "Bye!" You looked hurt and offended that she wouldn't say goodbye to you. 

My toddler may not be able to say her name, and she may need her pacifier to keep her entertained while her mom checks the ripeness of peaches and stops every few aisles to check her coupons, but maybe she's smarter than you think. She knew who deserved a goodbye and who wasn't worth her time and energy.

Next time I come through your line, can we please just talk about the weather?