A little while ago, my friend showed me a picture of a baby that is in an orphanage.
She said, “How could someone leave him?”.
At the time, I thought, indeed. How could someone leave him?
Today. Aru was a new Aru.
He woke up irate.
Crying, moaning, unwilling to be soothed by teething juice, a walk in the pram, a long cuddle or the sound of running water.
He was resistant.
This isn’t the Aru we know.
Anything would trigger him off.
Moving him from one place to another, the phone falling from his hands, me moving from one place to another.
By about 9:30am, I’d had it.
I was at my edge.
I handed him to his father.
My arms said it all.
As they peeled Aru from me and gave Aru to his Dad, my arms shrugged away any remnants of his touch on me.
I’d had enough.
And in that moment.
Albeit for a moment or two.
I didn’t want him.
I didn’t know what to do.
How to cope. Where to go.
How to make the day pass.
How to understand this little boy.
I was confused.
No tools. No hope.
That was the place I was in.
And – I had a husband at home. I had help coming in the afternoon.
I had a playgroup membership. I had lunch ready for us. I had a roof over our heads. I had food in the cupboards. I had friends there to call.
But in that moment. I simply couldn’t. Begin.
I understand that woman who left her baby.
Just a little bit better.
And like her, I know the hardest challenge won’t be Aru or her child.
It’ll be for forgiving ourselves for what we thought and did.
In that moment.