For a while, those arguments got set aside as mainly wore pull-ups, but as pull-ups’ usefulness came to an end, I was often at the mercy of mother for any changes or trips to the toilet.
Father had always been the one with a taste for liquor. Mother might join in with him on occasion, but often than not, her chastisements over his alcoholism turned into full-fledged arguments. But tonight, her eyes were red, and her breath was reminiscent of my father’s when he had deep into hard liquors.
She did a rushed, sloppy job of changing my diaper, mumbling words under her breath that I wasn’t able to discern.