This morning my cleaning lady, confidant, fellow mother and I were talking about cleaning things, groceries and motherhood. Motherhood being the one that dominates all of my conversations these days - and I won't have it any other way. Anyway, in between the broken mop and recipes for mango pickle, I asked her how big the age gap is between her two children. (Yes, I am already thinking along these lines.)
With that seemingly simple question, she unzipped her heart. The short answer was 18 months. The real answer was that her second, a son, was "an accident". So much so that she wanted to abort him, but couldn't. I felt that this was the end of her sharing. I remarked that life was funny. And how, ultimately we are not the ones in control.
The story now follows that 15 years after the birth of their son, her husband fell ill. And from that day to the present, an accident has been taking care of them.
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