Twenty minutes later, she crawled into my lap without a word, smelled my shirt, and whispered, “Okay, Daddy. Now ice cream.” If your little one ever tells you they’d rather stay with me (meaning themselves), don’t hear rejection. Hear readiness .
But then I watched her for a minute. She wasn’t being rude. She wasn’t rejecting me. She was doing something far more important:
She squirmed down, patted my knee with the condescension only a preschooler can muster, and walked back to her castle. Without looking up, she said it: rissa may stay with me, daddy
When Rissa says, “Stay with me,” she’s not pushing me away. She’s inviting me into a more advanced level of trust. She’s saying: I know you’re right there if I need you. But for now, I’ve got me. I sat down two feet away from her castle. Not inside it. Not directing it.
So here’s to the Rissas of the world. May they always feel like they’re good company to keep. Twenty minutes later, she crawled into my lap
And here’s to the dads who learn to sit two feet away, waiting patiently for the next lap invasion.
At first, my ego stung. Does she not want the ice cream? Does she not want me*?* But then I watched her for a minute
Now, suddenly, she looks me dead in the eye and says she’d rather hang out with... herself.