I watched the clear liquid disappear into the opaque plastic of the bottle, a steady stream that didn’t splash because I still have the steady hands they gave me at Fort Benning. It was 10:15 in the morning. Sarah left for the firm hours ago, kissed my cheek, and told me to "have a fun day with the troops." She thinks she’s being cute. She doesn't realize that my "troops" are three years old and currently screaming because I cut the crusts off the PB&J in the wrong geometric shape. I capped the bottle, shoved it into the side pocket of the diaper bag, and felt a surge of pure, white-hot fury that this is what my life has become. The park is a tactical nightmare of neon plastic and judgmental eyes.