She cried and I was quiet

Last night a beloved Dora tub toy had to go in the trash because of mold.

Eden was sad.

I pulled her close and I held her.  I told her it’s okay to be sad.

She cried in my arms and I rocked her.

I held my tongue and didn’t say all the things I wanted to say to try and make it better.  I didn’t tell her we would buy another, or that the toy was really gross now, or that it would all be okay.  In that moment, I just held her and rocked her.  It was enough.

I don’t need to talk at her.  I would do both of us a disservice to try and remedy the situation without letting her express her heart.

So there we sat, snuggled up, rocking.  I let her cry and feel sad.  It’s okay to feel sad.  It’s okay to cry.  If I don’t let her feel all the things, I can’t tell her it’s okay to feel.  It’s easier to say, don’t be sad, let’s go order another Dora toy.  It’s harder for me to let her work through her sadness, but I think it’s better.  To rush her through it tells her that the pain isn’t real.  Her tears are real.  Her heart is real.  What she feels is real.

After she cried, after we rocked, after a big hug, she ran off to play.

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