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It all began so innocently.

Amelia declared in her usual way that she wanted to walk around the supermarket, rather than sit in the obligatory child seat in the trolley. I think it went something like; ‘Gadana lackdawa!’ with lots of gesturing and pointing to be lifted out of the seat.

I relented. I wanted her to have some fun and she LOVES walking, its all ‘en vogue’ with her crew at the moment, or so she tells me. You get it…

Anyway. She toddled up and down the aisles, holding my hand, shouting (really quite loudly) with excitement and sheer joy at the prospect of having this new-found freedom in the big, shiny world of the shop. It soon became all too clear, however, that this experiment was going to have some problems. Not only did she begin to want to run away from me,  but she also thought she would mix it up a little by running directly towards any or all available shelves, containing anything from heavy tins of lemonade to eggs.

My heart was in my mouth. I had visions of her ending up with a concussion from trying to lift a whole chicken up over her head, or worse, pulling a whole stand of apple pies down on some unsuspecting old lady.

So I put her back into the trolley seat.

Strangely, she didn’t seem keen on the idea. It began with a bit of resistance when I first picked her up, following on to loud shouting and waving of hands and demanding to be put back down…but then soon became a scene of total carnage, when she realised her bum was firmly back in the dreaded trolley seat.

Her face moved from its healthy pink to an ever increasing shade of purple…hot sticky tears poured (literally poured) down her cheeks. And the screaming.

Oh God, the screaming.

People were looking at us. Judging.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. (I mean really, what would you do?)

She was so loud. SO loud. And she writhed and threw herself bodily around in the little seat, leaning over the side like a seasick person on the deck of a ship; refusing to be pacified by soothing words, my car keys (usually a favourite toy) or even the emergency biscuit.

It probably only lasted 2 minutes but it really did feel like an eternity. I managed to calm her down with promises of ‘I will let you walk in a minute’ (yes, I’m a big fat liar) and with that I swept her out to the car park fairly sharpish.

And what did her Dad say with a roll of his eyes when I brought her home?

‘I’m sure she wasn’t that bad.’

He can deal with tantrum No. 2 methinks…