An hour later, the five of us still sit around the table, our empty plates in front of us. Madison cleared Liberty’s tray and placed a few toys on it to entertain her. I wonder if other two-year-olds would entertain themselves for this long in a highchair. The guilt of cooping her up in a car for six hours later today eats at me. She needs to run around while she can.
I extricate her from the tray and buckled belt, lowering her to the floor, allowing her escape. Immediately, she heads to the front room and all of her toys. Unfortunately, my mom decides to rid up the table once I get up. That was not my intention; I enjoy visiting at the table. It’s rare that I get to slow down and relax like this.
I lean next to Mom at the sink while she rinses syrup off a couple plates. I pause. Her eyes are closed, and she’s attempting to pull in long, calming breaths. I place my hand on her back, and her eyes fly open.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, fear rising in my throat.