She watches me from the table across from us. He’s spinning MC Hammer style on his tiny, perfect butt. Tin foil is flying. Plastic forks are being launched as weapons against invisible invaders. He is the Master of my Universe.
I can’t stand being under his rule.
My voice raises in warning after the 4th time I’ve calmly contained this little human. I catch the glares of the more patient mothers. The never been mothers. The must-have-forgotten-how-bad-it-sucks-to-have-a-3-year-old mothers.
Still, her eyes remain kind. Despite both our quick, nervous glances away each time our eyes meet, we can’t stop staring at each other. She’s a total stranger.
I love strangers.
That awesome, eloquent, over 50 kind of stranger I have desperately wanted to be my entire life. No little humans tangling her world up all noose like around her neck. Already fought half her life’s battles. She has lost. She’s won. She has struggled. She’s risen. And here, she now sits, so comfortably perched in all that wisdom. Freaking unicorn.
God, I love her.
Our eyes cross paths for the 15th time, but this time, they lock. She smiles the old, wise soul smile as we hold our gaze. A smile that reminds me this is all in the meantime.
Someday, I’ll be that wise ole’ 50 too.