There is something that happens between mothers when entering the child therapist’s waiting room. For starters, we sit nearly knee to knee and pretend to be engrossed in the minimal artwork on the walls or on our cells. Without making eye contact, we sit, one person waiting to enter, the other waiting for their child to come out.

And it’s when the child beforehand comes out, where then and only then will our eyes meet. We glance at each other’s child with quick look of what’s she in for?  Then, in that awkward moment where the doctor says goodbye to the one and hello to the next, does the room become thick.

Like two children waiting outside the principal’s office, we return our stares back to our feet, only to repeat the same silence the next week.

About Lady in Red

mom of 3
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