all we knowpublished: 2011-09-29
My dear little boy. How you rant and rave, how you cry and scream. You say things like “stupid mum” and “I hate you mum” and “I don’t want to be with you, I want to be with Dad.” You punch my bottom, pinch my thighs, you bight my arm. And then you bury your head in that same bottom, hold my thighs, take my arm and put my hand in your lap.
“Mummy I want to be with you,” you say and you plead and you are about to rant and rave, to cry and scream all over again. Dad and I look at each other. Here we stand, your Mum and Dad. We are to know. We are to do this right.
I bend my knees so that I am your height. And I hold you and I say, “it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” I’m lying though, aren’t I? I’m lying to you, my dear little boy. And next I say, “four nights with mummy. Three nights with daddy. That’s how it is.”
I look at Dad again. Why? Because. That’s all we know. Because.
It must be hard. Liefs.