Tonight, for the first time, Alice sort of told me how her day went.
“Owie hand,” she said as she was falling asleep.
I knew what she was talking about.
When I picked her up this afternoon, one of the teachers was icing her wrist and said that Alice had hurt it on the playground. I asked her to wriggle her fingers. Then wave her hand. And she did. Quite satisfactorily, so I let it go and didn’t worry.
Then, tonight, zipped into her jammies and twirling her hair, she looked up at me and said, “Owie hand.”
“I know,” I said. “You hurt your hand. Does it feel better now?”
No help Max
Miss Jamie hold you.
Ice in it.
And every single jagged little sentence made sense.
I know what happened.
It’s a strange thing for me to be let in on what she sees and feels while I’m at work. I wonder if it’s strange for her too, whether the world looks different to her now that there are words for it. If a haze is clearing, or if it’s just getting more complicated.