a true story about big feelings
She Hit Another Kid. I Froze.
One truck. One other boy holding it. And my daughter's hand flying out before I could reach her.
the realization
She wasn't being mean. She'd hit the wall of what a three-year-old can hold, and I could either add to the pile or hold her hands and take some of it off.
There was one toy truck at the whole playground, and of course it was the one Mia wanted. Another boy had it first. She reached, he pulled it away, and I watched her whole little body go stiff.
have you ever felt this way too?
Her hand flew out before I could get to her. A little smack on his arm. And every parent on that bench turned to look. I felt my face go hot. The words were already loading up, the 'we do NOT hit, say sorry right now.'
But then I actually looked at her. Not at the crowd, at her. Red face, fists, no words left. She wasn't a kid being awful. She was a tiny person who'd hit the end of what she could do and had nothing left to say it with. So I knelt down and took both her hands. Hey. Hey. I know. You really wanted that truck.
She didn't say sorry. She's three, and sorry was miles past where she was. She just leaned into me, forehead on my shoulder, and let her fists come loose. I held on.
what I found myself saying
"Hey. Hey. I know. You really wanted that truck."
"I've got your hands. I'm right here."
"That was a big mad. It's okay, I've got you."
