With my voice dripping of ridicule, I declared, "What an idiot!" 

My Little Lady immediately gasped.  "Momma! You shouldn't say that!"  

"What a foolish, foolish thing to do!" I justified.  What person in their right mind would do something like that!?  

"But Momma, that isn't nice!" 

A little bit later I lay next to her tiny form in her bed, snuggled in close, ready to sing her a song. "My stomach hurts." 

The whole time I didn't know what to say. The whole time I didn't know whether this was happening for HER or for ME. Was I supposed to DO something with this? Or was I just supposed to be there, to be a calm presence, to listen? Was God trying to speak to my own heart through her words and her wounds? I felt almost panicked, not having time to think through all the options and what the one very right thing to do could be. I wish I could say I chose out of wisdom, but that's not true. I chose out of exasperation. I just tried to listen. To affirm her. To tell her I was sorry. So very sorry that it happened to her and she'd had to live through that.

"They say a burned child fears fire. That's the truth." she said.

I saw it the moment she walked in the door that Friday evening.  Something was wrong.  Not her normal 'I didn't get my way' kind of wrong but a deep, consequential wrong.  In a millisecond I had time to think a thousand year's worth of thoughts.  

I had forgotten.