Today I caught you leaning against the toilette bowl, happily splashing the water around, clearly enjoying the sound, the feel and the motion. So idyllic against a backdrop of a pond or a river. I said "no Zoe," moving you away from the bowl, and you started crying.
I am writing this down, so when you grow up you know the kinds of stuff I said "no" to. You'll thank me for this one. I quickly lifted you up against the sink and washed your hands the way my grandfather used to wash mine. Rubbing the hands with lots of soap and running water, over and over, watching the dirt drip into the white sink until there was no gray drop left. In your case, there was no such visual feedback as your hands were not as dirty as mine used to be, so I washed yours until my mind was at peace.
Love,
Mommy
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