Tuuuuck.

So, yesterday, Miles and I went to Target to pick out a birthday present for Daddy from Miles.  Given Miles' complete hatred of most shopping excursions, I have to admit that I was expecting the worst.  I had no idea what I was in for.

We were without a cart.  For some reason, Miles has decided that the primary use of a shopping cart is to dive out of it.  Several times, I have managed to somehow catch my son mere seconds before he crashes into the floor.  Somehow, motherhood has turned me into some sort of disaster-sensing ninja with lightning-fast reflexes.  Highly useful, considering my child seems determined to bash his head on . . . well, any and every hard surface in sight.  In any case, I've found that, as long as we're not in a hurry to get anywhere particular, it's highly preferable to just allow Miles to walk.

There we were, meandering through the store, just the two of us: Miles darting off to look at the wall of TV's or display robot in the toy section, Mommy trying desperately to keep him from pulling all of the nicely-folded polos off of the racks.  Still, for the most part, it was a far calmer excursion than most.

Eventually, we had our items, and began making our way toward the checkout.  Halfway to the front of the store, Miles suddenly veered off into the women's clothing.  As soon as his feet touched carpet, though, he carefully laid down, then rolled over.  He flung a hand dramatically over his head, and said,

"I tuck."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him with an open mouth, thinking,  "Wha. . .?!?!?"  Laughter bubbled up and out, before I could stop it.  After a few seconds, I managed to ask, "You're what?"

"I tuuuuck," he repeated, drawing it out for maximum theatrical effect.

"You're stuck?" I guessed.

"Ess. I tuuuuuuuuuuuck."

I leaned over, and tried to pick him up.  Toddlers have this neat trick where they turn into really heavy, but really limp spaghetti; he did that, all the while pointing down, shaking his head, saying, "Uh uh! Uh uh!"  I put him back down.  He carefully, but dramatically, threw himself back to the floor.

"I tuck."

Not knowing what else to do, I walked a few steps away, out of his eyesight, but where I could still see his shoes.  Sure enough, he caught up to me a few seconds later, chattering on as though nothing had happened.  Twenty steps later, he fell to the floor again, this time in the middle of the main aisle.

"I tuck."

It took half an hour to travel the fifty feet or so to the registers.  I couldn't help but laugh.