Pay no attention to the seemingly crazy lady with tears and sniffles bagging groceries.
Clearly, I was not emotionally prepared to grocery shop this morning. Something felt off from the start. The drive was short and unusually quiet. I parked, grabbed everything I needed, and walked in with purpose. I even had a list—and stayed focused enough to actually follow it. Honestly, it was shaping up to be a full-on Aldi shopping success… until I reached the bagging counter.
As I efficiently sorted items into my reusable bags, my attention drifted down the counter. Cart after cart rolled by, each with a mother and a child. One child slept peacefully, another munched on store snacks, crumbs scattered across the cart and floor. One mom chatted about their next stop. Everything moved slowly. None of them were alone. They all had helpers—their partners—right there beside them.
That’s when it hit me. That’s why I felt so off—so uncharacteristically organized, efficient, quiet… and lonely. For the first time in nine years, I was missing my partner, my little helper.
There were no extra items in my cart. Nothing opened to satisfy a hungry kid. I didn’t say “no” or “not this time” even once. And just like that—cue the tears.
Oh my God. I am crying in Aldi’s. Do not think about how embarrassing this is. Don’t notice the glances. Please, judgey cashier, just keep walking past. Forget these bags—throw everything back in the cart and get to the van. The big, EMPTY van. None of it helped. Not even a little.
Once outside, I slipped on my sunglasses, granting myself just enough invisibility to finish the task and slow the steady stream of tears.
My kids are happy, healthy, and thriving at school. I know this. A good portion of my life has been spent never having a moment to myself, and suddenly the flood of alone moments feels overwhelming. I used to sneak to the store at 1 a.m. when I needed solitude. I cherished the drive to work when I could choose my own music—or even sit in complete silence. Now that silence is here, and honestly? It’s really hard, you guys.
I promise I won’t tell another mom with littles to “enjoy every moment, it won’t last.” It won’t last—we all know that. And it’s never helpful. No matter how many times people told me that (usually during a full-blown meltdown), it never made the shrieks more enjoyable. What I do understand now is that, with time, this is a rite of passage every mother faces. Maybe not everyone cries in Aldi’s—that can be my claim to fame—but we will all experience the empty backseat, the quiet drives, and the loneliness that follows when there’s no little voice asking a hundred questions or singing Daddy Finger for the hundredth time that morning.
I’m confident I’ll adjust. Maybe I’ll tackle a few house projects, pamper myself a little, work uninterrupted, get caught up on laundry, and wear pants with buttons… okay, the last two might be ambitious.
Here’s to the next chapter—the mom of school-aged kids. I salute those who’ve gone before me, and I’ll keep a Kleenex ready for those who come after.
