There’s a nanny at the park whom I befriended way back when Zach was a newborn. We often chatted while Zach rolled around on a blanket, then later crawled on the grass eating leaves, and eventually toddled around on the playground. Last year she became pregnant and recently had a baby girl, whom she cares for while she nannies.
Watching Zachary take a tumble and get back up again without complaining, she turned to me and said: “I am going to raise my child like you are raising Zach. I’m going to let her eat dirt and fall down. Your son is resilient, and the freedom you gave him made him that way.”
I’m glad someone understands there’s a method to my madness.