A great thing about being able to stay home with my daughter are the little things that happen on a daily basis. The things I get to see and witness. I call them micro-moments.
It’s easy to get frustrated or bogged down by the daily duties of being the primary parent. There are times it takes effort to remember these moments won’t last long. That when she gets upset, or fussy that to her, there are reasons for that. It would be easy to give in to that frustration and demand she act in a certain way. To make her “be” the way I want her to be in a moment.
In these moments, when I’m clear headed and thinking better, I wonder why so many of us are the way we are. Who are suppose to be. Our parents, or guardians, or grandparents, forced an imprint on us. Don’t talk. Don’t play. Dragged out of a room for being loud. Told to not talk. I see so many of these things happening. Shaming and berating children for the crime of being a child.
I err on the side of letting her be loud. Of being able to find herself in these moments. I’m curious why these moments cause frustration, she’s a kid being a kid. It doesn’t make sense that I would want her to stop. So, I err on the side of not stopping. I don’t know if this is right, or wrong. It feels right to not stop her.
This leads to the micro-moments. Moments that remind me to stay present. To let her find herself and be herself. To allow her the freedom to play, yell, jump, and climb . She finds her voice to say fun, funny, weird, kind things. She uses her imagination to create worlds and stories. Without me directing her voice, or thoughts.
There are opportunities to sprinkle her head with stories and talking. Moments she can later use when I’m not around. I’ve made mistakes. I get tired and overwhelmed. Then she tells me Supergirl is taking a rocket back to Krypton to visit her family. I’m brought back into the present moment. I’m curious, should i tell her Krypton exploded and is no longer there? No, probably not. A micro-moment that pulls me into the present and washes away any fussiness in me.
A Better Father 