I was sitting in Panera Bread the other day when a family came in. The mom was pushing the double stroller and went straight to the tables while the dad ordered the food. I could see the stress written all over the guy's face. He had that look of defeat that only another parent would understand. I know how bad it is trying to go out in public with just one toddler. He had twins.
Poor guy. He had to be in his early thirties but his hair was already starting to gray. The five o'clock shadow and wrinkled clothes said that he didn't even care anymore about his appearance. He kept his head down so not to make eye contact with anyone who might see the tears he was probably trying to keep back. I wanted to make eye contact with him, you know? Let him know that I understood. Maybe salute him or something.
Then he started walking my direction. His torso was no longer obscured by that wall-thing that separates the booths from the line. That's when I realized it was worse than I ever could have imagined. He was wearing a Baby Bjorn. It wasn't twins. It was triplets. He glanced at me briefly as he passed by me...as I wept for us both.
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