My last meeting of the day wrapped up at 4:35 pm. I leisurely walked back to my desk and looked at my phone. As if I was waiting for a phone call from someone. I kept the phone back on the table, and started looking through my inbox for unread mails that needed attention. The list was long, and my stamina was running low. I really wanted to go to Tara’s day care and play with her for ten minutes, before taking her home, and making idlis for dinner.
Tara’s day care friends are like my extended family. I have seen these kids grow up together. They were less than six months old when I first met them. From the shine in their eyes, I can tell that they love me. I love them too. Especially Tara’s sisters, as she likes to call them – A&A. I toyed with the idea of dropping everything and just leave. I’d skip the traffic, and I’d get to be with Tara and her sisters for some time.
A ping on Hangouts led me down a different set of activities for the next ten minutes, and at 4:50 I got a call from the day care. Tara had hurt herself, spinning on the spinner. She was spinning too fast, and she toppled and hurt her nose and lips. I could not understand anything that the teacher was saying in that moment. I recollected my thoughts and asked her, “Is she really ok? Is there blood? Is she crying?”. She responded, “Yes, she is ok. She is sitting with an ice pack. There was no blood, and she did not cry.”
All the worst possibilities started fogging my mind. But I was somehow able to push through the negative thoughts, and I told the teacher, “I am on my way. Ask her to count till ten and Mum will be there.”
It was 4:55pm when I unlocked the car and started driving. The drive is a haze except for that brief moment that I felt extremely vulnerable. In that moment two thoughts flashed my mind –
- Did I know Tara was going to be hurt? And that’s why I wanted to be at the day care?
- What is this bond that I share with this little human? It is unlike something I have ever experienced. I am as strong as a rock, and as brittle as glass, all at the same time.
I don’t know how long it took me to get there and if she counted till ten. But when I checked the time it was 5:13 pm, and I had already been playing with Tara and her sisters for some time. She was fine. A bit shocked, but fine. Her sisters helped her spring back in action. And we talked about spinners and the concept of momentum, on our drive back home.
Tara and I share a cord that is invisible, and yet invincible. She tugs at my heart, in every giggle, and in every tumble.
Sigh! I was totally mommed out today!