We're curious human beings, that we are, us mothers. We will find out what it is that it is even when, there have been no clues strewn about.
11pm, I have no business staring and inspecting every inch. I do not do it every night but, today, I feel I should. I tell you, the thing they say about a mother's sixth sense is true. So I turn the feet then turn the toes then move on until I make my way to his little face. Eyes half closed....the sleep of the rebel. Eyes closed mostly but with a hint of watchfulness. Like, you forced me to sleep, but in a few, I shall be on my feet.
I immediately see the stain on the mouth. A quick super fast tracked calculation on my part reveals I have bought no beetroot, strawberries or any such red fruit or baby safe red food. Why is his mouth red. That is not the stain of Miranda fruity. That, I think to myself, is the stain of blood. But he is breathing well, not like he cried a storm. No one mentioned it too. Could I simply be imagining things?
So I do the thing that I suspect every mother would do. I taste it. There it is, the faint taste of metal and whatnot that I relate to blood. Why is my baby bleeding? Well, he isn't anymore as the blood has dried and he is fast asleep but he was! And nobody told me about it!
So I match back into the room and quietly and calmly ask...what did he eat for supper? Because really, I must be imagining the blood. Why does he have blood on his mouth? Why was he bleeding? Why didn't anybody tell me?
I am not hysterical. I am keeping It together. But for the hundredth time, I am wondering about my options. I am wondering if I cannot give up this job to stay home and watch him. It is not practical. I am a single mother, I have no other income source but this one that draws me from home every morning and brings me back when he is fast asleep. It is worth it...no, it is not. But it must be done for now. He must eat. And so must I.
It was a little accident.
Little enough that no one saw reason to tell me about it. Have there been more little accidents? What else? How much more are you hiding? What else have you forgotten? He is my son you know. He is all I have. Tell me. I want to know. I want to protect him more than I want to pour my anger on you.
