Charlie said Thursday night, lying on the couch with one hand under his head and the other pointed at his mouth and, more specifically, at his loose tooth. “Mahm, help.”
I have been many things to Charlie, but “dentist” is not on the list.
Charlie walked across the room, his eyes on me the whole way. “I want!” Pause, eyes still on me, lower lip pulled down to think. “Eat bread!”
(As I handed him the bread, I noticed two gaps on the bottom of his mouth—who knows where the teeth ended up…….)
Charlie turned back to fix that same gaze on me as he ran up the stairs. “Wait ten minutes for Mom to get ready,” I said.
“You can get your socks on” (meaning that Charlie went to get his socks, shoes, coat, hat, and gloves, ran into the bathroom, ready to go pick up Jim at the train station).
Charlie touched my right arm after the waitress had set down a bowl of steaming brown noodles, his request a vestigial trace of last summer’s bout of food throwing due to (I think) anxiety. I placed one finger on his bowl as he dug in (and attempted chopsticks with my left hand—-and quickly reached for a fork).
Charlie was rifling through one of my books and had pulled out a post-it note I had used to mark a page. He crumbled the note and then held it out to me: “Giff!”
“Mahm. Mahm, Mahm, Mahm!”
10.45pm and Charlie was still rolling around in his bed. Jim went down to talk to him and called me down; Charlie was crouched on the floor looking under his bed. “Mahm, Mahm.”
I crouched down too and saw that his photo calendar had gotten stuck between the wall and the bed. I fished it out, and realized that I had forgotten to give Charlie his melatonin, and promptly did.
(Guess this mom had a few other things on her mind…….)
“Mom” means a little more than apple pie around here.