After my previous post about how emotionally stable women are, I’m just going to come out and say it: I cried at work.
I don’t know why some days are harder than others. I got to spend almost a whole day with Junior yesterday thanks to a flexible schedule. We went to the park and he practiced walking while holding my hands. After watching a three-year-old slam repeatedly into one of the swings (what are little boys on?), he even mimicked the hellion by saying, "Boom!" (Actually, it was more like "boo" but I understood my little future Mensa member.)
When my mom, Linda, arrived to babysit this morning, I couldn’t wait to share the news.
“Junior learned a new word! Boom!”
Her face contorted into a weird half-smile, half-pucker, like she had painful gas but was trying to laugh through the pain.
“I…um…was…using that word when I watched him Monday. When I dropped a toy on the floor I said, ‘boom’ and he laughed. He was trying to say it but he couldn’t quite—”
“—He was trying to say it Monday but he couldn’t get it. So it’s new. Honest.”
We stood there, me holding Junior, like some kind of Midwestern showdown, without the tumbleweed or guns.
Then, Junior delivered a painful blow. He looked from me to Linda and—gasp—reached out to Linda.
She stepped back and pretended to pick lint from her shirt. Sneaky Linda. Teaching my son words and getting him to fall for her! The nerve!
I told her I had to go and handed her my cretin child. Then I got in my car and had a nice long cry. I don’t expect to be there for every one of Junior’s firsts but…but…
At work, the shrine I have to Junior by my desk just made it worse. Every time I looked at his fat, smiling face I got all teary and goofy. I can’t help it: I am in love.
At least the office building I work in is under construction and I can blame my blotchy face and red eyes and runny nose on asbestos particles.
And there are all those catchy stuff-envelopes-from-home jobs...right?
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