The Boy's wails gathered strength again as I started my interview. I closed the bedroom door on his yells and went on with my work. I had to turn up the phone's volume twice during the conversation and by the end, I wasn't really paying attention to the source. My guilt was too loud.
I came out of the bedroom after the call ended -- maybe 10, 15 minutes later -- to find The Boy still in his chair, red-faced, tear-streaked and sobbing for MOMMA! I apologized and picked him up, explaining I had to work and he couldn't just scream like that. He calmed down and wiped his snot and tears on his hands and my shirt. But no smile came.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "But Momma had to take that call. Trust me, I'd rather have been playing with you, but I had to work. It's just poopy."
"Poopy, poopy, poopy!" I said, grinning.
He laughed harder.
"You forgive me?"
"Yah!" The Boy said. "Poopy!"