Things are getting easier now. The exhaustion and craziness are fading away. But every now and again, I'm confronted with a reminder of how things were. It's in these moments that I realize Kyle really deserves a medal, or at least some good therapy.
Kyle walks into the dining room where I'm feeding the babies some lunch.
"I have something to tell you."
I look up at him. What could this be? I offer a tentative, you-can-totally-tell-me-anything-and-I-won't-get-angry "okay."
"It's not a big deal. But I don't want you to be upset." He punctuates this with a nervous laugh.
"Well what?" My mind races.
"I don't want you to buy me plain potato chips any more. I want flavor. Always at least some sort of flavor."
"Oh." I start to breathe again. "Okay."
Flavor. How reasonable. But it makes me wonder.
Just how scary was I?