I held my finger on the button to keep the elevator door open and he, by default, kept a firm hand onto the side of the door to prevent it from closing.
“Eh, you make my holding on to the ‘door open’ button redundant leh.”
“Sorry. Bad habit.”
“But you make me so redundant. Or yourself so redundant. Is there is serious need to hold the door open when I am pressing on the damn button?”
“Why? Do you suddenly find your life redundant now that you are no longer breastfeeding?”
Something inside me snapped, and the water dam in my eyes broke.
Regardless of the crowd in the mall, the rowdy festive atmosphere all around me, I let my eyes turn red and well up with tears.
I couldn’t hold it back. And truth be told, I didn’t want to.
That statement hurt. Whether or not he had meant for it to be interpreted in the way that I did.
Yes, my mothering work is now redundant, because I am no longer a source of nutrition for my son.