An ear-piercing shriek erupted from the bouncy house, interrupting the chatting of a dozen mothers. It was clearly the sound of a young child in pain, but not my young child. Every mother knows the sound of her own child’s screams.
The crowds that had been laughing and playing moments before were silence and still, all eyes on the bounce house. Only spotting one of my own kids, I let out a sigh. It was not the sound of relief, but the exhalation of a weary woman. My offspring may not have been in pain, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he may have been the cause of it.
The birthday boy emerged from the door opening, eyes swollen, chubby cheeks red and tear-stained.
“Henry bit me on the butt!” he wailed.
All eyes turned to me, the mother of the violent perpetrator. I sighed again. Parenting is exhausting, especially when your child …