!function(n){if(!window.cnx){window.cnx={},window.cnx.cmd=[];var t=n.createElement('iframe');t.display='none',t.onload=function(){var n=t.contentWindow.document,c=n.createElement('script');c.src='//cd.connatix.com/connatix.player.js',c.setAttribute('async','1'),c.setAttribute('type','text/javascript'),n.body.appendChild(c)},n.head.appendChild(t)}}(document);(new Image()).src = 'https://capi.connatix.com/tr/si?token=ff7fdddc-5441-4253-abc4-f12a33fad58b';cnx.cmd.push(function(){cnx({"playerId":"ff7fdddc-5441-4253-abc4-f12a33fad58b","mediaId":"678d6695-64c4-4eb2-b959-cd0206efcdd2"}).render("67ebae63e4b0884aa95349f7");});In the self-checkout, my 3-year-old son Joey insists on helping me scan our groceries. He moves in slow motion, his tiny hands fumbling with the bag of clementines, the fruit snacks, the milk. The line behind us is growing. I can feel the weight of impatient eyes, hear the exaggerated sighs. “We have to hurry up, Joey. People are waiting,” I say, reaching for the next box he’s trying to grab. “I can do it by myself,” he screams. I check my frustration, taking deep breaths with a clenched jaw as we make our way through the last few items. When we finish, an older man walking past smiles at us and says, “I miss that age. All mine are grown. Enjoy every minute — goes by too fast.”I smile, but in that moment