It was my job to set the table for supper. After a day of baby-minding as the family’s au pair, which was all new to me, this was a chore I knew how to do. The baby, tiny at birth and tiny still, was propped on the narrow table, secured by pillows. As I was bringing wine glasses over, time stopped. The baby was rolling. Rolling. Had rolled. Off the table, onto the chairs below. I stood rooted, glasses safe in hand, baby definitely not minded. But not shattered. My faith in myself was broken, but the baby was whole.
Amanda Le Rougetel is a cat-loving writer of creative nonfiction and flash. She believes that words are everything or nothing; it depends. Fiveyearsawriter.blogspot.com writingastool.ca