That’s what she called butterflies. ‘Flutterbys.’ Every single time. In a kind of lisping voice.
‘Oh, look at the pretty flutterby,’ she would exclaim in wonder.
I thought it was cute. Sweet. Adorable. Childish. Lovable.
She was all of those things, at times.
But thinking back, it was a sign of all that followed.
She was thirty one after all. I should have seen it as a clear indication of her immaturity. A precursor to all that followed in our relationship.
The tears, when they started, should have come as no surprise. Yet they did.
And the tantrums…
Oh God the tantrums.
They should not have surprised me either.
But they really did. Out of nowhere, over the most trivial things. Lost cars keys, a broken cup. A broken nail was enough to get her started. I was a nervous wreck waiting for the next outburst..
I have decided that, for me at least, it is okay for a six years old girl to say ‘flutterbys’ not a grown woman.
So, next time I am totally choosing someone who uses grownup words.
Although it might be awhile before the next time. Those tantrums took a lot out of me.