After spending weeks in anticipation of her new bed arriving, (“When my bed comes I’m going to sleep all by myself”) Mallory now ascends the stairs to bed saying, “I only want to sleep in daddy’s bed.” So much for that.
I work for a union. I’ve been a union supporter for all my adult life. For all their imperfections I believe working people are almost always better off with a union than without. But the president of the Ottawa local of the Amalgamated Transit Union has me getting off the union bus.
For about the first year of Mallory’s life Irene and I walked, rocked and sang her to sleep with a bottle of breast milk. And even after we substituted lying in bed and reading stories, I would occasionally sing her a song or two after lights out.
This is the first night of her two and a half years that Mallory is not spending with either her mommy or her daddy. She’s staying with her Aunt Janet, Uncle Derek and her three cousins. The house feels really empty. And not just because we’ve been emptying it in anticipation of our move. Irene and I spent the day readying the house for painting, cleaning and choosing paint colours. And wondering if any minute we were going to get the call, telling us our daughter was inconsolable and that we needed to come get her.