Where is my mother?
We all know there are a wealth of things we are not told before we have children. Things best left unsaid if we are to continue to populate the earth. Another unspoken truth visited me yet again today. Without being too specific, I was using the restroom. I had been there for only a minute or two when I heard it. It was muffled but getting closer. My daughter’s “I’m only a little hurt but I need to keep crying until mom sees the injury” wail.
As she moved throughout the house looking for me the wail began to lose it’s steam so she’d pause and call for me. When I didn’t reply it gave her the strength to crank the moan back up to it’s original glory and continue her search. Finally she found me. She knocked on the bathroom door and relayed how her little brother hurt her cheek in excruciating detail and ended with “come out I need you!”
Continuing to cry until mom sees the wound is not something she invented. I once watched my son fall out of a tree, dust himself off, walk across the field and not start crying until he reached the back gate. I wasn’t preoccupied in that instance the way I was today, so then I tended the child lovingly with my most effective remedy...a cold washcloth.
Today though I sat there (of course) just shaking my head. I don’t know which part disturbed me more. The fact that I couldn’t even get a few minutes alone in the bathroom, or that she passed her father three times as he sat on the sofa reading his book undisturbed.
“Honey,” I said, “ it’ll be okay. I’ll be out in a minute, go get a cold washcloth.”