Baby Shark

Like other stay-at-home Moms, my world revolves around play-dates. On these hot summer days, I live for trips to the pool, splash pad or (shady) playground with other moms of preschoolers and toddlers. This week, we met up with my friend Gaia and her daughter Mary at Bravery Kids Gym in Fayetteville.

Bravery is one of these indoor play gyms, where you pay to let your littles run around and jump and swing about while you try to have a conversation with another mom. Your conversation inevitably fails because your child falls down on the padded floor, or needs a strong reminder that we share and take turns or has go to the potty. But, you're still happy to have an hour of conversation in the sweet air conditioning that is not centered around Nick Jr. characters.

Gaia and I were sitting on one side of the room, watching the girls interact with a little guy who looked to be about three. We noticed that he was a little bit rough. We witnessed him throwing some plastic cones about, and we commented that the women with him didn't seem to be his mother. She seemed a little too timid when correcting him. Most mommas would grab their child and make a quick correction at the cone-throwing, but this woman seemed a bit like a fish out of water. We said she looked like a grandmother or a babysitter, but she was definitely trying.

This boy and our two girls were up on a wooden platform. Below the platform is a pit filled with super soft, foam blocks. I'm not sure what exactly happened, but I saw Story fall from the platform into the blocks and the little guy jumped in right on top of her. I had just risen from my chair when I heard her screaming. I ran to her, and the boy's grandmother ran over too. It was a blur for a moment, and then I realized what my red-faced child was screaming about. Her arm was red and blue and white from the worst bite mark I've ever seen. The boy's grandmother picked him up, and Gaia told me later that he was trying to bite and kick at his grandmother while I stared at my screaming little girl and tried to think.

Something kind of primal takes over for a second when you realize that someone has hurt your child. That boy might have just been three years old, but I was ready to drop-kick him into the parking lot for a moment. But peace rushed in and calmed that instinct too quickly for more damage to be done. There was no need for more screaming. Everyone was already plenty upset.

But, I did look at the woman, holding the boy, who was now crying. And said, "Is he your grandson?" She said, "Yes." And I said, "He's a little out of control." And then I walked back to the seating area with a still crying and shaking Story.

As the staff responded to the situation with an ice pack and some gummy snacks, the boy's story unfolded. His grandmother was mortified and devastated by what happened. Through tears (real tears, not histrionics) she told us that he was a drug baby, and his mother is in rehab. Though his grandmother was falling apart, the boy seemed to not care whatsoever about anything that was happening. Once Story calmed down, I asked his grandmother if I could talk to him, and she said yes. I said, "I want you to know that you hurt my little girl. She is crying because of what you did to her." He just stared at me blankly. Shortly after that, Gaia and I took our kids to the reading room, so they could completely calm down.

After a while, the grandmother appeared at the door of the reading room to let us know that she had filled out the incident report with the staff and left her number. She said to call if we needed anything. She was still crying and apologizing. She hugged Story and, with tears still streaming down her cheeks said to me, "I don't want her to be traumatized." I told her, "We will be fine. It sounds like you have a really difficult situation. We want you to go in peace." During these interactions, her grandson continued to try to kick and hit her. Gaia offered tender admonishment to the boy, "Don't hit your grandmother," she said in her Italian accent, "she loves you so much." But I could see from my seat on the reading room sofa that the broken parts of that boy's life had so filled him up that he had nothing else to pour out at that moment but slaps and kicks. As they turned to go their own way, my heart broke for them because I knew that Story's wound would be so much easier to heal.

After about fifteen minutes, my baby girl was back out to play. I sat cross-legged on the floor building blocks with Grey and looked across the room at her. "Baby Shark" came on through the speakers and I watched her move her little body to the music and I thought, "Wow, that girl is fierce." Later, in the car, she wanted to call her daddy and tell him about the bite. She said, "That boy had a sad heart. He didn't know how to act." And, then, I cried.

God of grace, thank you for giving us peace in our moment of pain. Thank you for giving us the power to speak truth to those who hurt us. Thank you for giving us the resilience to dance, even after we've been knocked off our feet. Jesus, thank you for weeping with the wounded. We ask you for peace for this boy who wounded Story and great healing for him and his family.