I knew instantly. In that split second before he started screaming. I knew that he was hurt. I could hear my husband, “oh shit shit shit” I felt sick as I ran in to the bedroom where they both were, and wrestled our distressed little one out of his father’s arms.
The rage was instant. It bubbled up inside me, clawing and scratching at my throat like a feral animal escaping from a cage.
Moron! You complete fucking moron. You’re so stupid. So painfully stupid. You really have no idea do you. Fuck. Just fuck.
His Nain, feeling my distress, took our boy from me, and held him close.
Amongst the screaming, somewhere between desperately trying to comfort our little person, and trying to stop myself from crying, I slapped him (husband). Not just one slap. A flurry of angry punches.
He didn’t defend himself. Or try to stop me. He understood. He understood why I was so angry. He was just as angry with himself.
With blood all over me from our poor little person, and tears streaming down my face. I ran away. Only to the kitchen. But I ran away from the blood curdling cries of pain. I hid. Hands over my ears. I closed my eyes and counted to 30.
I was calm then. Calm enough to scoop our darling little one back in to my arms from the loving clutches of his Nana, and hold him, and shush him, and tell him he was ok.
You’re ok now. Mama’s here. It’s ok. I’m sorry. Daddy’s sorry. Shush shush shush. It’s ok baby. It’s ok. Ooh my poor baby. I’m here sweetheart. I’m here. Mamas here. Ça va aller bébé. Calme toi. Je suis la. Je sais que tu as mal. Je sais. Mama est là. Shush shush. Oh mon brave. Je t’aime. Je t’aime. Shush.
And finally. He calms. His sweet little eyes looking up at me as he feeds. Comfort for both of us. His head all wet with sweat. His normally blonde hair darkened and curled. As he suckles, I continue to rock back and forth, signing gently to him.
Lavender’s blue dilly dilly, lavender’s green..
He’s happier now. We all are. Grovelling apologies from husband and I to each other, and a stark reminder that our little one is still so small and fragile.
Not even for 1 second. Do not take your eyes off him. Nothing is more important than your son. Nothing. Not even your boss’s boss’s boss’s. No one. Not now. Not ever.
I know that now he says. I’m sorry.
As am I. Sorry that this had to happen. Sorry that our son has a fat lip. Sorry that I lost my cool so badly that I lashed out.
Sorry. Just sorry.