I grab the child out of the car seat as fast as possible, I stick my fingers in his mouth, I get the paper clip he's about to swallow.
I lose the paper clip for a second, I reach for it again and pull it out in rage. Shaken.
Sometimes days are really long. They are crazy and everything just seems to happen all together; from a nice and relaxing walk in Brooklyn Heights you end up spending your evening at the emergency, worried about possible damages you might have done to your child, seeing any kind of sick people, not having dinner, getting home at 11pm, going to bed and having nightmares.
On the following morning, after saving the last drop of milk for your daughter's cup (you obviously didn't manage to buy it the day before), you hear "You're a bitch", instead of a "Thank you".When she insists on buying food at the school's cafeteria - claiming it's better than what you cook for her - you miss the ground under you feet.
Sometimes it takes a while to pick up the pieces.