She’s not a particularly likeable child, this Brownie of mine. Which I am sympathetic to, because I wasn’t a particularly likeable child. I would like to tell you that I was misunderstood, and I was, but I also wasn’t particularly likeable.
Still and all, she’s . . . . challenging. I won’t get into the how and why, but she’s the sort of kid who presses every button while also pressing her luck. She’s a good part of why I come home and have a glass of wine and chocolate at the end of Brownies. She’s constant management, but she’s also constant worry.
I tell myself that I turned out ok. I tell myself that while I probably won’t find another romantic partner, I have a life with friends and family and meaningful work and things that I enjoy.
But I worry still.