When my son was breastfed, when I walked out with him, I was afraid of him right in the wheelchair on the stairs from the elevator. I pulled him out of the wheelchair, pressed him with one hand and pushed the wheelchair forward with the other hand. The hardest thing was to open the door. Once I opened the door, the wheelchair was pushed out, and then the baby was wrapped, I reflected the wheelchair and grabbed the son with two hands. The wheelchair fell.
And behind the door on the street, not seeing me, a neighbor stood, walking out her dog. I imagine what she thought. A door opens, a wheelchair flies out of the door, makes a salto, and lands on the asphalt at the stairs, and outside the door my indifferent voice: ‘Damn, again...’.