Yesterday I was sitting on a bench at a crowded Walmart, waiting for Boy to get out of the restroom, listening to a rambling message on my work cell phone, telling Girl “No” for the nth time for some reason or other. From the corner of my eye I could see a woman waving at me, trying to get my attention.

“Miss, are you going to be here for two minutes?” she asked. She was a young Hispanic woman holding a six-month old baby. I could tell in an instant what she wanted — she was asking me to look after her baby while she went to the restroom.

“No,” I said, standing up, phone still to my ear. Boy had just stepped out of the restroom, and I motioned him to come with an angry wave.

I could see the woman head into the bathroom holding the baby with one arm, and I felt bad for her. I remembered what that was like, holding a baby while peeing. Not fun, but I always chose it over the alternative — having a stranger look after my baby while I was in a vulnerable position.

It was a snap decision, made while I was in a foul mood in the middle of a stressful place. But I thought about it all day. Why did I so abruptly say no? Why didn’t I help the young mother?

I decided that it was because we were at Walmart on a Saturday. I had threatened both of my kids before we went into the store not to run away from me, giving them the stranger danger scare. I wanted to give that lecture to the woman with the baby. “Don’t you know better? This is Walmart! On a Saturday!” I wanted to tell her.

More than that: I didn’t want to be mistaken for a kidnapper. What if the woman never came back? Or what if she came out of the restroom screaming, “She took my baby!” I could picture the Walmart cops hauling me away in handcuffs.

So I don’t really have a punchline to this story, only that I wasn’t Christian enough to help a stranger, but just Christian enough to feel guilty about it all day.