Heartbreak from a Two-Year Old

Lately, Leah has been crying every time I leave her at daycare. Usually the teacher has to pry  her from my arms and I end up leaving in tears. When I return to pick her up I am always told that she calmed down immediately after I left and had a great day. Then all the way home she will tell me about all of the fun things she did all day.

After a particularly tearful goodbye one day last week, I was surprised to hear that Leah had an outstanding day after I left. I got Miss Chatty into the car and on the ride I asked her,

“Leah, don’t you have fun at daycare?”

“Yeah!” she replied enthusiastically.

“Then why do you always cry when mommy leaves?” I asked her.

She thought about this for a moment and then said, “Because it just hurts my heart.”

If only she knew how much that thought hurt MY heart! I never want to be the cause of any hurting for my child, especially her little heart. I guess the only thing that I can do is enjoy every second that I spend with her and take comfort in the fact that she does enjoy daycare once the initial shock of separation wears off.

I know this is a good thing for her, but a part of me just wanted to take her home, and never leave her ever again. I mean, if she really wanted higher education, I suppose I could move into her dorm, right?



I love it when toddlers hear something and they repeat it not only incorrectly, but really cute. Leah knows we have a baby monitor in our room, for example. This morning when she came to get me and climbed into my bed for some morning snuggles, she could hear her night-time music playing through it.

“Mommy!” She exclaimed. “The baby monster is singing! How can that be?!”

I don’t know which part is funnier/cuter; the fact that she thinks it is a “baby monster” or that she actually said “How can that be?”!

It astonishes me every day how smart my two-year old is (or, as she says, two and a half). A few weeks ago we came home from her swim lesson to find that my husband had beat us home and had parked his work van in the street. She noticed right away.

“Mama,” she said. “Daddy has a truck with a ladder.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Is he a fire fighter?” she asked me. How can a toddler be smart enough to put that thought together?

I explained to her what her daddy’s job really is, and now she proudly tells everyone that her daddy is a “techmician of satewites”!

You have what up your nose?

Last week I started my taxes. It was a cloudy day and Leah was playing quietly in the living room. I, of course, lost myself in the paperwork and did not think twice about just how quiet my daughter was being. It took me a few moments to come back to Earth and realize that she was trying to tell me something.

“Mommy, it’s in my nose,” she told me. I must also add that she looked rather proud of herself.

“What is in your nose?” I asked. “Do you have boogers?” (Mommy-Me is not as eloquent as Blogger-Me).

“No!” Leah said defiantly. “It’s up there! The swew is up there.”

It took me a moment to remember that “swew” is actually “screw”. I still thought she was messing with me, despite the fact that she was now rubbing at one side of her nose. And despite the face that she’s two.

Nevertheless, I grabbed a flashlight to appease her and told her to tilt her head back so I could see. I was quite alarmed to see a faint glint far up her nostril. I totally panicked when I realize that my child had, indeed, shoved a screw up her nose. I looked about and figured out that the screw had come from the back of a small wooden picture frame that had come in a package with markers for Leah to color. Without taking time to determine the size of the screw, I hastened to take her to Urgent Care.

I was picturing a large screw with a pointed end that could impale her nostril from the inside out. I drove quickly, yet carefully, and kept glancing in the mirror to make sure she wasn’t rubbing her nose.

Despite my terror, Leah was remarkably happy and chatty. I ran with her into the lobby of Urgent Care, and was ushered immediately into a room by a nurse. This served to make me believe that things were more serious than I had originally thought. I was wrong. One nurse took all my information on a computer, while another took Leah by the hand and walked her around showing off how cute her coat was, and getting her stickers. Leah proudly told everyone that she had a swew in her nose.

The doctor came in and said she got cases like this on a weekly basis and not to worry. She was able to remove the screw in seconds with a tiny pair of alligator clamps. The screw was very tiny and had a flat end, not a sharp one. I could have had Leah blow it out, but I wasn’t going to try that with the picture I had in my  head of a much larger, sharper screw. All in all, we were at the Urgent Care center for about 20 minutes.

On the way home, I drove steadily and quietly. Suddenly, a wave of relief washed over me and I began to giggle like a mad woman. I had realized how funny the whole thing now seemed. Leah also began to laugh and we drove home this way; safe, sound, and happy.