Have you ever been out with a group of women and been in the presence of a couple seated next to you or walking by? Perhaps that couple was holding hands or laughing like they enjoyed each other’s company. Then one of the women in your group would make a snarky remark about the man, woman or both.
That’s called hateration.
I’m glad to say that I was never that woman. If a couple finds love, more power to them. But that’s not to say I wasn’t a bit of a hater in other ways.
In the past, I can recall being out and about and having an overwhelming sense of sadness wash over me whenever I saw a woman with a stroller. It didn’t matter if the woman was alone, or the child was being unruly or the woman looked harried. The mere sight of a woman pushing a stroller would bring me to tears.
To me, the stroller is the ultimate symbol of motherhood. More so than any bottle, bib or binky. When you see a woman pushing a stroller, you know she has a family. You know she has someone she is responsible for. Someone that loves her unconditionally.
A couple of weeks ago my own stroller was delivered to my doorstep. I am not at all exaggerating when I tell you I cried when I took it out of the box. Although not how I always pictured it to be, my dream is finally coming true.
Soon (hopefully sooner than we think) I will have someone to be responsible for. She won’t ignore my calls, hang up on me or be too busy to talk to me. She won’t judge me. She will be excited at the sight of me. She will appreciate me.
She will love me unconditionally, and I will love her back.