He has another woman. Three of them actually, but one is particularly fond of my little blond boy with the funny gait, a boy of few words. It is her face which lights up at the very sight of him.

He has another woman. Many a morning we walk into school and he lurches forward out of my arms and into hers. It is her who gives him a warm place to snuggle when I’m not there.

He has another woman. He crawled in my bed this morning and took my hand, placed it on his back, and starting making it pat. It is her who pats and rubs his back at nap time.

He has another woman. I play new songs and am surprised to discover he knows the tune already. It is her who holds him in her lap at circle time and sings about circles.

He has another woman. She sings his praises and recounts his bits of accomplishment when I am not there to witness. It is her that claps and cheers my little boy to independence.

He has another woman. The teacher who gives meaning to what it means to teach and love and welcome a mother and child into the fold of education that feels like family. It is her that makes it worthwhile to leave him.

He has another woman and I’m so very thankful for her presence.