I’m breastfeeding Camila, lying next to her on the sofa in my mother’s house. Mika comes behind me and starts cutting my arm with a plastic knife. She wants to get to my blood, she says. What are you going to do with the blood?, I ask. Put it in a plastic bag and then throw it away she says. Seems like a waste, I say.
A couple of minutes later she comes and starts brushing my hair with the brush from the vacuum cleaner. She’s trying to get the knots out, she says.