I have borne a monster into this world. Not a terrible one, but one that has two distinct behaviors, angelic and demonic, that turn on a dime.

One minute The Bees will be laughing and jolly playing with her Dad and then she sees me and collapses at my feet whining and scowling, crying to be held and kicking her heels on the floor. One minute she’ll be smiling sweetly up at me, listening to a story and the next she’s pinching my face hard and pulling my hair.

Today it was 95 degrees and I was determined to leave the house to go do something. We ended up in Bethesda as we often do, at the Barnes and Noble where she can run willy-nilly through the children’s section, pointing out her favorite characters, and fighting with other kids over the trains on the train set. She was fine there for 30 minutes or so, they don’t seem to mind that she traipses around pulling down all the stuffed animals onto the floor.

Then it was 1pm and we moved on to Café Deluxe for lunch.  I don’t often take the Bees to a seated lunch (it’s more than twice what we’d pay for takeout) but it was too hot to sit outside, I had a hankering for a good salad and knew they are baby friendly. I got The Bees set up in her high chair with crayons and a cup of water with a straw. I ordered her mac and cheese and for myself, a Greek salad and an ice tea. There we sat, two ladies at lunch, she dutifully ate, scribbled on the paper tablecloth and pointed out various items of interest - the boy next to us, the fans overhead, the mirrors. I drew faces, hands, dogs, cats and sharks for her on the paper, and we had a grand time. After lunch I took her to the restroom with me and then popped her into the stroller. As we left several people had admiring glances and murmured, “Such a good baby”.

We waltz out on the street and down the sidewalk, The Bees poking a little hand out to point at a dog. Since we had another 20 minutes on the meter I wanted to stop into this shop I like called “Lucy” that sells women’s “performance apparel”. That means things you might wear while running, biking, doing yoga. These are also clothes you might wear that make other people think that you do these sports. And that’s why I buy them.

We arrive at Lucy and it’s as cold as a refrigerator, thank god, and the Bees is smiling and waving and cooing and oohing and I start pushing her between a few sale racks and then all of a sudden she has a fit and starts screaming to get out. I grab two tops off a rack, run into the changing room and throw them on. She is screeching, tugging at her straps, twisting her body to get out. By the time we emerge from the changing room I can’t hear anything but The Bees - I see the sales lady’s mouth moving but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

We are at the counter and she is trying to wrap up the blouse and she is picking at this stack of tissue and it’s not coming up and she is picking and picking and finally I just say “we just need to leave I’ll just take it“ and I throw the shirt into the stroller and at this point I am holding the kicking screaming child in my arms trying to sign the receipt and The Bees is shrieking so loudly that other shoppers have fled the store.

I mutter something about ‘tired baby’ and tackle The Bees and strap her into the stroller and run her out the door. (Thank god I was wearing performance apparel).

The only way I can calm her down is by promising the immediate delivery of a “cook cook” so we rush across the street to the bakery and I butt in front of the lady in line and grab an oatmeal raisin cookie from the counter which I shove into The Bees’ mouth! And then, as the sugar dissolves on the front of her tongue, she immediately ceases all sound, her face relaxes and she leans back in the stroller. “Mmmm” she says. “Cook cook”.

We drive home and I glance back at my once again angel, clutching the cookie in her tight fist, feet crossed at the ankle, staring out the window at the trees going by while she listens to a Frenchman sing “Allouette”.