2He’s not my son. How would she know?
So I asked her that. Calmly, she repeated, “He’s not your son. Trust me, he looks totally different to you.”
Ah. Got it.
Pissed off AF and not calmly at all, I replied, “Listen, I can’t find my son, so I need to know if that boy is mine, otherwise someone has got him and we need to call security.”
She laughed and repeated, “No, he can’t be yours, you don’t look the same!”
I’ll just point out that this happened in 2009 – the dark ages – when I didn’t have a smartphone/baby-photo-storage-unit to show her some evidence. About to completely lose my shit, I stared around me thinking that no one else has come to claim this mystery child, why not let me have a look?
So I darted behind the counter to slap the woman see the child for myself. The attendant stepped in my way but I was too quick – a mum missing a child is wily like that. I opened the office door and there was my tiny son. I scooped him up and burst into tears. I screamed at the woman: “JUST BECAUSE WE AREN’T THE SAME COLOUR DOESN’T MEAN HE’S NOT MY SON!”