Bite me, Alpha mom.

I just got should on all over by an alpha mom in the parking lot of my favorite Mexican food market. She ambushed me as I approached my car, totally unaware of the surprise attack hiding in the minivan. And she got me, right where I am weakest: in the you're-a-bad-mother-artery. It could have been a fatal blow, had I not come off of a great day with Jack.

This was not the post I had anticipated writing this evening. I was going to write about how I took Jack to the beach today and how we played in the sand. I was going to write about how I realized that I live a charmed life where days like today exist; days where the sun is shining a glorious 75 degrees in early February, where I have a whole afternoon to waste burying my son's feet in the sand, where I wear long, flowy skirts and flip flops and feel like I am part of the earth, itself. I was going to write about how, in a moment of inspiration, I realized that I am living the life that I want to live and feelings of not-good-enough and lack were chased away by gratitude.

I drove home from the beach, sunkissed and sandy, and it dawned on me that the perfect ending to this summery winter day would be to bar-b-que carne asada in my backyard. So, Jack and I ran a few errands (including three movie rental stores to find the very coveted Elizabeth, the Golden Age) and then stopped by La Tortilleria, a convenience store by my house that always has perfectly marinated carne asada and just-ripe avocados. Because I found a parking spot right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and because I knew I would be less than five minutes, I decided to leave Jack in the car. I have done so before, like every other mother I know, because I understand that the difficulty of getting Jack out of the carseat and into a stroller and then back out of the stroller and into the carseat is greater than any risk there may be of leaving him safe in my locked car. However, momma bear parked next to me felt otherwise.

I came out of the market to find her craning out of her minivan window and looking at Jack (who, by the way, was happily playing with a toy). "Is that your baby?" she asked when she saw me walking to my car. "Yes," I responded, ready to hear the usual Oh, he's so cute or I remember when mine was that small... Instead: "You really shouldn't leave your baby in the car."

"Oh, I know-" I started, jovially.

"It's illegal," she said, with false concern and very sincere superiority. "Not only is it illegal, but it's very unsafe. She could suffocate in there!"

I stared at her, dumbstruck. Was she really doing this to me?

"Ma'am, I know you love your baby, but someone could come and kidnap her and you would never see her again. She could be in Tijuana before you knew it!"

Feeling defensive and very annoyed, I threw my avocados and carne in the passenger seat and said, "Okay, thank you. Goodbye."

She continued. "It's illegal to leave your baby in the car, even for a minute. You just never know what could happen."

I slammed the passenger door and walked away, shocked by how condescending this woman was. Who the hell does she think she is? And what the fuck does she know about me? Does she know that I have spent the last year and a half of my life giving up everything I am, everything I know, everything I do to be available and present for my son? Does she know that I spent eleven months not sleeping so that my son would feel safe and cared for in the middle of the night? Does she have a fucking CLUE that I gave up my career and became a nanny so that my son could spend the first years of his life with his mother nearby? Does she know what kind of mother I am? Apparently not, because if she did she would have stopped to shake my hand.

"Don't get mad at me because I pointed out that you are doing the wrong thing to your child! It's not safe to leave her in there," she shouted. "It's ILLEGAL!"

"It's none of your business," I said back, leaving much unsaid. "Goodbye!" She let out a big sigh of exaggerated frustration, rolled her eyes and drove away. I got in my car and realized I had a choice. I could let this superior-mom-mugging ruin my day or I could say, fuck you, you crazy bitch and go home and eat some carne asada with my son.

It was some good carne.