Recently, I developed a new, rather alarming reaction to seeing couples who appear to be in the same age range as Mr. X and I, one of whom is carrying the tell-tale ubiquitous baby tote while the other brings up the rear with the large stroller/carrier contraption:
I’ll be the first to admit that it’s a bit of an overreaction. I mean really, rage? Aren’t there things that are really more rage-worthy than seeing some former frat boy carrying a car seat like its a bucket of water? Absolutely, but I see more than just some guy and a baby. I see where I am supposed to be and I am not. Enter rage.
Part of the problem is that we see so many of them on a typical trip to a restaurant or a market. We must live in the fertile crescent of the United States, because it’s like no aisle at Lowe’s is free from the strollerati. So, rather than seethe silently or begin avoiding just about every public place, I decided to get down to the bottom of why I felt so effing pissed off.
I should mention that it’s not hormonal. My hormonal rages are usually directed at thoroughly useless, baseless and stupid shit that is not even worthy mentioning here (“Bitch, did you not see that stop sign?!”). And, I haven’t been on the drugs long enough to elicit such a response.
No, it’s a complex rage made up of several different emotions. It’s anger that we have been treading water for four years waiting to move on to the next phase of our life and it’s to the point that we’re beginning to wonder if we are going to take that next step. It’s fear that we might not have a conventional life and our rhyme might just end at “then comes marriage”. Most of all, it’s being reminded again of what we have tried to achieve and failed to do, repeatedly. It’s feeling like we are being held back, asked to repeat a grade, over and over again while our same-age peers move on to the next appointed step. We’ve got the marriage, where’s the goddamn baby carriage?
And, damn it all to hell, it still freaking hurts.
So, yeah, when I see some girl who is my age with the husband and the infant carrier, I get pissed. Pissed that we are in the situation we are, pissed that I’m still upset about it, pissed that I don’t think I can share my feelings on the subject with Mr. X, and generally pissed that I’m letting a couple of strangers piss me off.
It’s a pisser.
image: I Like