Today during naptime Natasha was standing at the gate in her doorway, leaning on it despondently.
“My heart is broken,” she said in her ‘sad’ voice. This was one of the many moments I’ve felt my natural response (laughter) in conflict with my parenting instinct. “My heart is broken,” she said again. I couldn’t decide if she wanted to be sure I had heard her, or if she was just trying out the feel of the words. Continue reading