Lifts

After today’s meltdown we should really have gave it up as a bad job. But I pulled myself together and tried to push on. We decided to go for a coffee to try and defuse the situation. As we left the shopping centre it was raining. “How do you put the raincover on?” Simon asks? “It’s this way” I said. “Are you sure?” he responds. “Jesus Simon, why is it always me who needs to know everything about Rory’s pram!!? And it’s always my fault if we don’t have the bloody toy he wants or there’s something missing out his changing bag.  Isn’t it????” I could hear my voice wavering and I could feel the tears again.  Simon looks at me. “Look, let’s just get a quick coffee, you can feed Rory and then we will go home. O.k?”  “Fine” I mumble. We then find a cafe which I know has good changing facilities. We wait on the lift to take us up there as it’s on the top floor. I hate lifts. It’s not the claustrophobia, it’s the waiting and the people that get in lifts that don’t need to that really wind me up! I rarely used a lift before having Rory. Why would you when you don’t need to?

We went up and down in that bloody lift with lots of able bodied people piling in and out for a good fifteen minutes before we eventually got to our desired 5th floor. Up and down we went as I clenched my fists and people rushed up to the door at the last minute and squeezed themselves in. The rage was back to maximum levels.

I made sure the coffee I ordered was a decaf in preparation for the trip back down!

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