Car. Is. Officially. Dead.
Last night was the first time in a long time when I didn’t enjoy my single parenthood. While I was stuck in the center turn-lane, flagging down traffic, LB screaming in the backseat. I really wished I had a significant other there to help me jump start my car, or come pick us up, or help me calm my nerves after I barely made it home.
I really wanted someone to snuggle with as I miserably curled into the fetal position, wondering how I was going to navigate this week’s transportation to work and daycare, get my car towed, and pay for the needed repairs. It would have been so much nicer to hear “It’s gonna be OK” coming from the other side of the bed, feel the comforting warmth of someones body, instead of miserably hugging your lifeless pillow. Instead you have to settle for the mechanical hum of the ceiling fan to sing you to sleep, and hope for a solution to present itself in the morning.
I knew I shouldn’t have crossed the rabbit.