Today I decided to be a stereotype. Six days postpartum, stuck 5 hours away from family, I experienced a fortunate phenomenon: let’s call it Too Many Grandparents Syndrome. TMGS is very serious, and can result in a feeling that is often uncomfortable for young moms. With 3 out of 4 of my kids’ grandparents visiting the new baby and seasoned toddler, I found myself in a two hour window of time in which I was not needed.

It was uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to react. I sat behind the wheel of a car void of car seats in a daze. “Get out of the house,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said. But without kids, I had no purpose. I was not welcome at the play dates. The neighborhood parks closed their gates to me. For those two hours, I didn’t belong anywhere. I drove aimlessly, speeding just a little down the freeway, ignoring the voice of the ghost of my toddler calling from my backseat. “Don’t go fast, mommy.” But I could go “fast.” I could get from my house to wherever I wanted in record time, listening to the country music my son hates at volumes babies’ ears can’t handle. So I did. I drove. I embraced faith that I would make it to a place where I would be accepted.

Soon enough my car was in park. The keys were in my pocket, since I had no diaper bag to hold them or my wallet, the only two things I needed. I stood in front of the automatic red doors, between the random if not statuesque red balls. This was Displaced Mom Mecca. This was my calling. This was Target.

I had heard it spoken of on mommy blogs and a stay at home mom Facebook group I frequent when I need a good dose of solidarity. Target had been described as magical, cathartic, even a guilty pleasure. Women came here on long lunch breaks to smell the coffee. Wives told white lies to their husbands so they would watch the children for an extra 20 minutes while they roamed the section tailor-made for them by Joanna Gaines. According to my peers, this was a place where I could comfortably swipe my credit card and check my guilt at the door on my way out.

It was one of those things I didn’t realize I was missing until I saw it for myself. Just inside the door I was sucked into the vortex of the Dollar Section. I decided to forgive the misnomer when I found a pair of kitten-bedazzled headphones for only $3 and realized Target had seen me coming. Anyone who knows me can attest to my love for kittens. And my love for technology that may or may not work next month.

I could have stayed in that section for hours. Let the siren’s call work me over until my whole house could be populated with rubber window stickers and Spring-pink calligraphy signs. Somehow I let the allure of what was beyond drag me away.

Diapers, I told myself. That’s all I need. But the battle of wills started almost instantly as I passed the cutest swimsuit I have ever seen. What new mom doesn’t want to try on swimwear less than a week after giving birth? Not only that, but I was faced with the opportunity to try on clothes by myself. No one was there to throw the stall door open mid-change and sprint away. Still, somehow, I pressed on.

A mine field of adorable accessories, shoes, and home decor mounted between me and the diapers. I closed my eyes against the shimmer of each potential hit to our budget and checked my phone for the time. If I wasn’t careful, I would lose myself to this place. But I had time. I could wander the baby isles with the best of the new moms. It was the responsible thing to do.

I was stunned by the enormous selection of baby items, paralleled only by Walmart, Buy Buy Baby, and Amazon. If only someone had told me I could find bottles, diapers, wipes, and that adorable giraffe pacifier all under one roof, I would have been here ages ago. I mourned the fact that I didn’t need most of those things anymore. Amazon had taken that joy away from me months ago with its alluring 2-day shipping. I grabbed the diapers and fled from what could have been.

Before I got to the register I had to pass up every snack I would crave in the wee-hours of the nursing morning. Sales. Sales everywhere. Once I left Target I would probably never have the opportunity to buy a unicorn hot chocolate mug again. The cashier asked me if I wanted a bag, implying what I already knew: I was supposed to be leaving with more than a box of diapers. Another time, perhaps, when I was more emotionally prepared for what I was getting into. As this experience drew to a close I would deem it an introduction. A crash course in all that is good in life.

I turned off the ignition in my parking spot back home and just sat for a minute, humbled. Maybe it was the new mom hormones still raging in full force, but I felt a special high I didn’t know a person could get from a shopping experience. Call me a stereotype, but this week I gained a new love, and it’s name is Target.