All the Moms Who Deserve Those Reserved Parking Spots

As I pull into my local supermarket lot, my eyes alight on an open parking space less than 20 feet from the automatic doors. My heart soars, my tired limbs quiver with excitement and relief. “Jackpot!” I scream though I’m alone in my mini-van. Seeing this convenient and vacant spot makes me as giddy as a young, evening gown-wearing gal hearing “Will you accept this rose?”

But just as I’m about to pull in, I see it – one of the signs that seem to be popping up everywhere and spoiling my fun. You’ve seen ‘em. The baby carriage, the stick figure family, the pregnant cartoon character, and beneath or above them, the words that ruin it all:

Reserved Parking for Expectant Mothers or Families with Infants.

WTF? No, no. I get it. Grocery shopping is no picnic when you’re traveling solo in your most comfortable footwear on a good hair day with your shopping list and a cup your favorite cooled-to-perfection coffee in hand. Doing it while pregnant or with a baby or two in tow is an effing nightmare. Hell, I’ve been there. I don’t have amnesia. Even though my kids are now 16, 12, and 10, I recall how making it out of the store without any Real Housewives-style tantrums is harder than winning American Ninja Warrior after being dipped in butter and downing four shots of Stoli.

And yet. It feels colossally unfair. Just because your children are grown and you don’t have a bun in the oven, that doesn’t mean you aren’t experiencing tough times that could be somehow improved with the help of primo parking.

In my opinion, if you fall into any of the following categories, you deserve that coveted close spot:

You’re routinely berated by your teen for running out of frozen waffles.

You’re sweating like Guy Fieri at a Texas pig roast while trying to overcome the humiliation of breaking wind at hot yoga.

You’re suffering from insomnia thanks to the barrage of disturbing emails sent by your kids’ principal warning of the widespread vaping and sexting occurring at the middle school.

You’re nursing a Bunco night hangover.

You volunteered to make four dozen cupcakes for a PTO bake sale – and they were supposed to be dropped off (individually wrapped!!) 45 minutes ago.

You’re feeding multiple teenagers and know lugging your bags back into the house will be more strenuous than a CrossFit competition.

You’d prefer to avoid chit-chat with the creepy shopping cart collector.

You’re not mentally prepared to hear that inevitable Wilson-Phillips song that will stick in your head like a fucking anvil for the next three to seven days.

You were just behind a 100-year-old driver who had his left blinker on for the last five miles.

You’ll be going home to roast a chicken and prep three sides all while knowing you won’t get a “That was tasty!” or even a simple “Thanks” from anyone in the family.

You’re en route to buy yeast infection creme or hemorrhoid ointment.

You’re struggling to remember why you’re there in the first place.

Seriously, you may not have cracked nipples from breastfeeding or keep bribery snacks in your purse any longer, but you’re still a mother and you deserve good parking!

Liz Alterman is a mom of three who enjoys baking, gardening, and making fun of reality television. You can read more about her adventures in unemployment and under-achieving at ballsofourasses.blogspot.com or follow her on Twitter @LizAlterman.