It happens somewhere ordinary. The post office, the bakery, the parking lot. And at first, you think you can stop it. But then it hits. Full force. The arched back. The flailing arms. The noise that feels like it could shatter glass. And it’s not the strangers that get to you. It’s your mom, standing a few feet away. The way her eyes widen. The tight purse of her lips. The secondhand embarrassment radiating off her like heat. You feel her watching you, silently narrating every move. “I never would have let you act like that.” “A good look would’ve…
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It wasn’t the dark. It wasn’t monsters under the bed. It wasn’t even the vacuum, though that got a good scream or two. The first thing my daughter was terrified of was flies. Or as she named them, with complete toddler confidence: “shoo flies.” She thought that was their actual name. Not a command. Not a phrase. Just… the name of the tiny buzzing villains that had suddenly taken over her imagination. And oh, how they scared her. Not just during the day, when she’d flinch and cry if one dared to come near her snack. But at night. Every…
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There are moments in motherhood when you see glimmers of what’s taking root. Sometimes they take you by surprise. Things you didn’t even realize you were teaching.
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“Why don’t fish get wrinkly in water?” You blink. Pause. Stall. “What do you think?” It buys you approximately six seconds. Because they’re still staring at you like you’re Google with a snack drawer. One day, without warning, your child starts asking questions like a tiny philosopher in pajamas.
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Not the Cute One. The 47th One That Day. The first time your toddler says “No”? Let’s be real — it’s kind of adorable. They say it with a goofy grin, maybe a wobble in their voice. You try not to laugh. It’s like watching a puppy bark at its reflection. But then one day, “No” isn’t cute anymore. It’s loud. It’s constant. It’s weaponized.