As it happened, I was lingering in that particular aisle because I was trying to choose a deodorant for Thing One, his first. He is blessedly non-stinky so far (except for his soccer shinguards and cleats: dear God; those could be weaponized), but since he's coming up on eleven, I know that those days are numbered. We're working on establishing good personal hygiene habits before he actually needs them. I was trying to decide what I wanted my preadolescent son to smell like: adventure? ironman? everest? extreme? Gel form? Stick form? All of a sudden, it seemed like a terribly personal decision to be making for somebody else, even if he is currently a ten year-old boy who could care less.
Much like the other mother, I was shopping for my little boy. Except that mine is no longer quite so little, and this is only one of the first, easier steps toward him really becoming big and gone and no longer mine. For a moment there, I would have gone back to him being the toddler in the cart, screams and all, in order to buy myself more years with him. That not being possible, he's going to get a REALLY big hug to go along with his new deodorant when he gets home from school today!