Sunday Yummy Sundae

My husband and I had a plan to go to SF today. We've managed to get there but not for the original idea I had in mind. Suffice it to say, I got cranky about it. Blamed him for the whole thing going awry. Naturally, I lashed out in frustration. (I did say I get aggravated easily in my other posts right?)

I know plans don't go well. No matter how much you've carefully prepared for them, they unravel in an instant. I should have this tattooed somewhere in my brain. I know I should have the very notion of it ingrained in my psyche. Didn't I just got bitch-slapped with it when Kai died three months or so ago? But still, I can't help fight against it, hoping that one of these days I get to kick its ass in return or die trying.

To make amends, my husband suggested an ice cream treat in Ghirardelli Square. Ice cream is one of my comfort foods. Anyone can easily bribe me with it. And it doesn't matter if my throat hurts or if I'm still nursing a stupid cough. Heh. So all was forgiven and forgotten, thanks to a single warm brownie hot fudge sundae.

Besides, it was such a fine day to be sulking and grumbling on something that can be done in another day. I realized I need to be more forgiving of my husband. He is grieving and missing our son, too. And we only have each other to find comfort in. The aim is to remain strong and become closer, not push each other away. And our time together is important to accomplish this one goal.

So we sat by an outdoor table in full view of the bay, dotted with sailboats and ocean liners. We ate the sundae among parents with young children, their double strollers parked just a little to our left. Not too distracting, but enough to make us aware of their presence.

I busied myself by doodling baby names of other BLMs on my Chat Noir pad. The weather was nice and I wanted to photograph some of them. Meanwhile, my husband was wolfing down his dark chocolate fudge sundae. I had a feeling he pulled a fast one on me. It was HIM who wanted an ice cream treat so badly! (>_<)

After our sundaes, we walked toward the Aquatic Park just in front of the Ghirardelli Square. Everyone was out, enjoying the sun. People reading books, sunbathing on that little strip of sand, some brave souls swimming laps in the icy water. I started taking pictures of the baby names. I wonder if the locals will think it funny that I'm photographing a notepad instead of the scenery. "Must be a tourist from an out-of-bounds country," they would say. Little do they know, I'm actually a citizen of Dead Baby Land.

As we headed back to the parking garage, I had to take a bathroom break. The line was expectedly long since we were in a tourist area. I got distracted by two kids dressed in similar attire - one is about 7 or 8 years old, the other is about 2 or 3 years old. They were waiting with their dad by the access ramp, a little ways off from the women's bathroom.

I was amused by their matching attire - jeans, white shirts with long sleeves, stripey vests and newsboy hats. Their dad wore the same thing without the hat. (Thank goodness, that would have been too much of a fashion faux pas.)  

I found another thing that distracted me for a few minutes and when I reverted my eyes back to them, I saw their mother. She was fully pregnant in a sleeveless white shirt talking to her 10-year old daughter, who was dressed in the same outfit.

"It must be nice to already have three children and have another one on the way, while I had one I couldn't even keep," I thought unconsciously. I willed myself to forget them and find other ways to occupy myself lest I wallow in self-pity and baby envy all the way to the bathroom. Instead, I tinkered with my phone. It was safer that way.

But momentary heartache aside, I think my husband and I had a nice Sunday together. It was a good lesson for me to just live in the moment. Sometimes.