It’s Come Home

Scene I – Happened some months ago. I’m nursing the baby. The living daylights are knocked out of me as my neck snaps up in pain, my face contorts and I have a sudden impulse to fling the baby into the center of the room. But instead? I ease him off gently, run downstairs yelling "MrG! Guess what? He’s teething!!!" And then we go out and buy half a dozen teething toys and rings for him to chew on. I carry the bite marks like an emblem, showing them off in private to MrG, till they fade away.

Scene II – He grabs my hair in his little fist and tugs away till I can feel the tears in my eyes. I open his tight fist and immediately proceed to remove all the hair from his hand lest he put it in his mouth. Much later, I rub the area near my temple, where it still hurts. Only a little.

Scene III – I’m putting the monster to sleep. It’s quiet and the lullaby CD promises to put me out before it does him. He kicks around and tosses and turns on the bed like a madcap (usual practice). It reaches a pinnacle which means anytime now, we’re done. My eyes begin to close. He flings himself toward me like a cannonball and his coconut-like hard little head knocks me on the mouth, my right incisor clamps down on my lip. I can taste the blood. I don’t move a centimeter. No point getting him excited, we are almost there. 5 mins later, when he is still and breathing steady I get up and check in the mirror. The lower lip is swollen like a plum. MrG walks in. I say "He’s out and it’s only 10:15. Good day, na?"

Wikipedia says "The Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response in which the hostage exhibits loyalty to the hostage-taker, in spite of the danger (or at least risk) in which the hostage has been placed."

Yes, that’s it. Stockholm has come home.