At the grocery store just now, where we went after an abrupt zoo ending cancelled by pouring rain as we exited the monkey house (Cooper LOVED the monkey house, BTW. An orangutan was playing peekaboo with himself and a blanket, and Cooper was captivated), all three kids lost their shit at the butcher counter. It was a simul-meltdown, the first one we've had, and really, really impressive. Ben took them all outside, and I walked away fast with the cart pretending not to know them and paid for the groceries. While I was in line, ready to join into a conversation about did you see those awful children? Ben sent me a text that said "Do not buy those kids any juice." I laughed, but was really happy to put back their $4.99 individual bottles of Naked Juice that they picked for a good behavior treat before, you know, the good behavior evaporate.
When we were all standing there waiting for our tomato/basil/parm chicken breasts that I think will go great with the stuffing Jack needs me to make because he is jonesing for stuffing like yesterday, and Cooper was screaming and kicking his legs so hard his shoe came off, and Jack was lying on the floor on his stomach, and Harry was pounding Graduate style on the meat case, I felt people staring at us. Our kids' behavior was horrifying, sure, but I think the kicker was that I am pregnant with another one of those. Ben and I looked at each other over the writhing pile of offspring in front of us, and totally judged ourselves, too.
At least he can have a drink.