There’s No Crying in Post Office!

So I was waiting in line in the post office. It looked like this:

Long line is long.

You will notice an adorable curly-haired tot in this photo.

It took about fifteen minutes to shuffle into the main mail room. There I noticed the man behind me had a stroller with a baby in it. The baby looked about 18 months old.

Curly Baby played with a cardboard box. Stroller Baby just sort of looked at everything.

I’m not that into babies. But both these babies were cute, smiling, and placid — exactly the right kind of babies to be in a post office line with.

Furthermore, just for reference, Curly Baby’s parent was a gentle, pleasant, fashionably dressed African-American woman. Stroller Baby’s parent was a gentle, pleasant, fashionably dressed Japanese-American man.

Then Curly Baby noticed Stroller Baby.

Curly Baby asked Stroller Dad, “May I play with him?”
Stroller Dad said yes.
Curly Mom said, “Don’t touch — your hands are dirty,” and Curly Baby listened. He approached Stroller Baby and shared his cardboard box with him.

The babies smiled at each other. Each baby smiled at his parent, checking in. Each parent smiled back.

Curly Baby asked, “Is he a boy or a girl?”
Stroller Dad said, “He’s a boy.”
Curly Mom repeated for Curly Baby: “He’s a boy. Just like you!”

More gentle playing.

Then Curly Baby said, to his mom, in a tiny, scientific voice: “I love his baby.”
Curly Mom said, “You should tell him!”

I don’t exactly know what happened next because I suddenly burst into tears.

I pulled it together. I tried to think about the U.S. Postal Service while still smiling and enjoying the bebes. But there was definitely some eye leakage.

Plus the man on the other side of me took a GIANT step away. Which I understand.

I guess you never know when a moment of heart-stabbing joy will overtake you. Even in the post office.

Tory

Draws. Sweats. Eats too much sugar-free candy.

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