Oh jeez, who would have though Superbowl Sunday could bring me to tears? Well, I’m sure plenty of Pittsburgh Steelers fans maybe cried that evening, but I was happy not to see them win again. That’s not the point though, the point is I came home from the game and cried on the couch for a good hour, desperately upset about a stupid stroller I saw at the party we went to.
We bought Wyatt a stroller. The day, literally, before he was born. We’re lucky it re-sold so damn fast on craigslist once we were brave enough to post it (we made $10—cha-ching!) because I just wanted to throw it in the highway every time I had to step around it in the garage. Our Superbowl party hosts, Hubby’s boss and wife, are about halfway through “their” first pregnancy (it feels weird to say it belongs to both of them, but I guess it does, and it’s easier to write it that way).
They had a stroller and car seat set-up in their basement, where we watched the game. Luckily, I didn’t see it until our walk out (too many drunken people between my perfect viewing position and the back wall) because it sent shivers down my spine. I immediately panicked for them: what if their baby dies now? By the time we got home I couldn’t stop remembering I was pregnant and I had my own Nugget to worry about. What if my baby dies now that they bought a stroller? Wait, that makes no sense. IT DOESN’T MATTER. It made me cry forever. Finally a Tom Brokaw documentary about the guy who had to rip off his own arm in the Utah canyons distracted me. It was a good show. But it didn’t make me completely forget the first stroller I ever bought for my first baby and how we’ll never get to use it. Sigh. 
No comments:
Post a Comment