Today I took Soren shoe shopping. He’s a good little shopper and usually naps peacefully in his stroller, occasionally opening his eyes to offer wordless commentary on what I happen to be trying on at the moment with his facial expressions. On this shopping trip, however, Soren had gas.
The shoe department in this particular store was completely silent – no muzak, no talking, just a few other women pensively trying on pumps and ballet flats. Shoe shopping is often less about shoes and more about finding time to clear your head, and the women in this store all seemed to have many problems to sort out as they examined their foot profiles in those little useless angled shoe mirrors.
So anyways, all was quiet in the shoe department save the “hnggggggh! Arrrrrrrgpf! Mmmmmmmaaar!” of my still very tiny baby straining to pass gas, followed by extremely loud farting noises. I jammed a pacifier in his mouth, but it was no use. The women trying on shoes stared as I wheeled my flatulent baby past them while I giggled, unapologetically.