Half-Baked Parenting

I’m about six years old. I’ve been disabled since birth, so spending long hours walking around is too much for me. (Thank goodness for getting a wheelchair now! I’m free to shop ’til I drop!)

My mother decides that she wants to go shopping in a little town. I am less than enthusiastic, so she pops in to a bakery, tells me to sit, then leaves.

It takes a little while for the staff to realize she’s not coming back. They ask me where she is, to which I just shrug. I don’t know her number, nor do I have any identification on me. Unable to leave the store to search for my mother, they decide to keep an eye on me until she comes back.

Over the several hours she’s gone, I get bored. I look at the stuffed animals the bakery has for decoration, and (without touching them or getting out of my seat) I start to make up stories for them. The lizard is my favorite. The staff must have noticed, because the owner takes it down and lets me play with it.

Evening arrives, and my mother finally returns. She tells me to give the lizard back, but the owner insists I keep it. I don’t know what they said to my mother that day, but she was angry with me the rest of the way home. I didn’t get left anywhere after that.

To the bakery staff and owner, thank you for dealing with such an unexpected ordeal. I still treasure that lizard you gave me.