Literally Too Big For Her Britches

Last night I noticed that my wee bonny lass had busted two toe-sized holes right through the ends of her favorite star-covered, 3-6 month sized babygro. (That's a pair of footie-pajamas if you're a redneck from North Carolina like my good friend, Shay.) Sometimes I just look at little Thunder-thighs and think that I can actually see her growing right before my eyes.  Since she refuses to stop doing this, the only sensible thing for us to do was have a girls' morning out at the shops.

Here are a few tips on how to recognize me if you are out at the shops as well.  I am the one who is being confrontational in the car park with that single, 30-something-year-old bloke in a sports car who has decided to park next to me in a designated "baby and child" parking bay.  Oh yes, I will call it out, and you know he will act like he didn't realise it was a special parking area even though the spaces are 50% larger and there are neon flashing signs everywhere (practically).  Whatever.  Meanwhile a heavily pregnant woman with two wriggling toddlers is forced to park in the back end of the car park in a tiny, standard-sized parking bay, and she struggles to get herself, her children and her pushchair out of the car, while Blokey Mc Bloke slides out of his pristine car alone and checks his reflection in the window before trotting into Marksy's for a new pair of sunglasses.  This so gets my goat, and if you happen to be there, you might hear about it.

Inside the shops, I will be the one pushing a pram with one hand and holding my baby with the other.  Lili always seems to wake up five minutes into the shopping experience, at which point she declares, "I know you don't expect me to sit down here all by myself."  The shopping now goes in the seat of the stroller.  This is the way it works.

I'm also the one with the charming American accent who shrieks when holding up a bright green, fleecy, baby jumper, "Where is one of these in MY size??!"  British shoppers don't seem to share my enthusiasm or my need to comment publicly on how I feel about my shopping-finds.  Sometimes I can hear them whispering to their children as they shuffle out of my way, "Come along, darling, keep clear of the mad American woman who appears entirely too excited about the baby socks."

Now we are back at home after a very successful morning out at Boots and Next.  Lili won nearly everyone over with her giant grins and bashful fake-outs.  She was lavished with all of the usual complimentary terms: lush, gorgeous and beauty-ful.  Here at home we aren't wasting any time.  Right now all sorts of new little pink things covered in bunnies, hearts and polka dots are tumbling around in my dryer.  Look out world, Thunder-thighs is just about ready for spring!