V and I have – well, they aren’t really proper fights, so I don’t know what to call them. But about two or three times a year (really, that’s it), we just clash. She thinks I’m who-knows-what; I think she’s ridiculous. We stop talking. We throw angry texts. Correction: I throw passive aggressive texts to try to get a rise out of her. I don’t know what her logic is.
All this to set up one of those moments where you feel like it’s the most pathetic moment of your life. Am I the only one who has those?
I had Patrick and Lilly in the stroller, on a gorgeous fall day, full of snacks and books for them at the coffee shop I like to walk them down to. And as I pushed the side-by-side strolled down the sidewalk of a fairly main road, I was sobbing under my sunglasses. Sunglasses which I had, in fact, put on just so people wouldn’t see the tears.
Yeah, pathetic, I know. Needless to say, we didn’t make it to the coffee shop.