JUST when I think I have identified all the potential parenting pitfalls another opens up under my nose.

I am talking about the recent story about a mother whose toddler’s mini meltdown caused so much outrage in John Lewis that she asked to leave.

The story quickly picked up speed sparking more outrage.

I think we can all agree that the sound of screaming children makes everyone’s blood pressure spike.

“I really enjoyed that time you wailed and refused to engage your limbs in the toilet roll aisle at Asda”, said no one ever.

But no one dislikes a tantrum more than the designated adult desperately trying to bring the child they are supposed to be in control of back down to earth.

For someone so new, my son already has a very good grasp of what he likes and does not. Good for him, I say. Unless I am attempting to over ride him.

Because toddlers are the most unreasonable people I have ever met.

So how do people want us to react when they go apoplectic?

Currently I cope by attempting to take myself off to the happy place in my head when he causes a scene in public.

A demented smile masks that fact that the thread holding me together is fraying under the weight of the embarrassment.

The “there, there darlings” can be translated to “please, please don’t do this to me again”.

But who am I fooling?

These random shoppers don’t know me (I hope). Do they really think I am feeling genuine happiness or indifference at the fact that my son is screaming “help me!” at the top of his little lungs while I bag fruit and vegetables.

They watched him ransack the trolley beheading a bunch of flowers and taking the lids off a couple of yoghurts.

And heard him bellowed as I wrestled him into the trolley seat like it was some sort of ‘help yourself’ torture device.

And in a minute they’ll observe him taking out his frustrations on the shopping.

The time he opened a punnet of mushrooms and devoured a mud-covered one whole before spitting “I don’t like this” at me was a highlight.

So, fellow shoppers, I am afraid to say the truth is I am not sorry if my son has spoiled your shopping experience.

Because I am too busy feeling sorry for myself.

Me, the woman who just paid good money at the check out for an apple core, a masticated mushroom and a bunch of headless flowers.