You know what I hate? I hate that I can't see the world through eyes other than my own. And I really hate that sometimes it turns me into a bitter, judgmental cow.
I hate that I can't listen to someone else's birth story and see it as anything but a walk in the park - no matter how long, painful or scary they may have found it - if they came home with a live baby at the end of it. A live baby cancels out all the rest of it to me. I know that's unfair. I know it.
I hate that sometimes hearing about someone's "really bad day" makes me suddenly seethe inside when they start to rhyme off a laundry list of things that I consider fruit fly-sized problems. Dead babies make for a really bad day, not missing your bus or spilling coffee on your crotch.
I hate that I understand that we all see life based solely on our own experiences. I hate that I get it - that I get that for some lucky son-of-a-gun a lap full of coffee is the baseline for bad luck.
If I didn't get it, it would be so much easier to just hate everyone and their petty annoyances. But because I do get it, I can't. I have to feel these ugly, judgmental feelings, then talk myself out of them by reminding myself that people only know what they know.
I just hate that I know so much.