I was there, but she tied the apron behind her back with an amazing facility and started chattering to her co-worker as if I didn't exist. Maybe I don't exist. That would explain a lot of things!
"Wasn't gonna be late, but my foster baby, that little rascal he just peed all over me, just as we were fixing to leave, and I had to find something else to wear."
"How long are you going to have him, and who takes care of him while you're here?"
"This retired grandmother I go to Church with, she's bored, and she cares for him while I'm at work. I might have him a few more weeks, or months, while the adoption papers are getting processed."
"Who gave him his name, anyway?"
"Well the momma. She's real young I think. The adopting parents will change it I guess."
"Why are you taking care of the baby? You'll have to give him up, won't it be hard?"
"I don't know. Poor little baby shouldn't ever have a day in his life when he feels like he never had a momma to pee on I guess." And she laughed, honest and endearing, and the conversation changed to some other topic.
Maybe this woman believes that in some way, we remember everything, though we don't know we remember it. Maybe she believes that in some strange way, this baby will grow to be a man, somehow understanding there was never a day he breathed air, when he didn't have a momma, albeit surrogates, fussing over him, and he will be a little bit better man for that submerged memory.
There are far worse things to believe.