If such a thing existed as a codified all-inclusive description of parenthood, I’d make sure it included the task of follower: during the toddler years, your job is to follow the child around everywhere they go, basically attempting to prevent them from falling on heads or down stairs, scraping knees, breaking bones, or pretty much doing anything that will cause them to bleed or ingest poison in any form. The tricky part in all of this is to avoid the temper tantrums/angry grunts/wails that will most certainly result from you doing anything at all that makes them feel as if you are restricting their independence, i.e. touching them, trying to help them, refusing them entry to any cupboard, room, drawer , or street, or taking away any object they are trying to destroy or eat.
That pretty much sums up the whole of my existence lately.
And though the task of following isn’t always my favorite, it is one of the more soul-swelling, light me up inside, kill me with cuteness parts of the job to watch her toddle (pat, pat, pat) down the sidewalk ,babbling and waving her arms/holding them up like a scarecrow. it’s. the. best.
just tell me these shorts aren’t the cutest pants in all the land
Between the bump/bruise on her forehead and the dirt on her face and shirt, my mother might say she loods like an orphan child. But if you looked closer and realized that some of the dirt was actually chocolate, you would know she is obviously well loved and cared for.
I’ll follow that around any day.