Motherhood; finally realizing I was doing it right


This little shriveled-up baby head of broccoli proves I’m doing motherhood right!

No my daughter isn’t eating steamed broccoli at dinner, nor has she any plans until she’s 24-teen apparently, she’s not agreeing to me putting it in her morning smoothie, and she’s not even going to give it a try while it sits in a bath of cheese broth. Nope, she’s doing none of the above. What she is doing is caring for it as if it were homeless

Saturday ended with us doing a family grocery shop to get us by the rest of the weekend and while we did gather what we needed from the produce aisle, we did not leave with a head of broccoli. We never do, because we know it won’t get eaten, broccoli is never a first choice vegetable. We get to the checkout and make friendly with the cashier, because everyone knows that’s the perfect equation for getting off scott-free for paying for your grocery bags. So while mama makes small talk to save us 50 cents, Sofia heads straight for the button at the end of the conveyor belt and says “mama? mum? mom? mama? Can I push it please?“. I agree because that’s the smart thing to do to avoid a but why battle, and now we’re in full on play-mode. She is bagging my groceries and loading my cart, making random comments and sound effects on the items I shopped for.

Mmmmm – good choice sir (for the bag of Sour Cream and Dill Chips)
Not for my plate thanks (for the box of Italian Farro)
cluck, cluck, cock-a-too (for the crate of Eggs)

This has not only amused those around us, but bought Sammy and I some time to unload and pay for our groceries without having to reason with her on why she can’t have another Kinder Egg. I head to collect my randomly bagged groceries and mini-bagger and this is when it happened.

dada, can I have this? Look, it’s all alone, it’s lost it’s mama. I have to takes care of her and keep her safe

She holds up the littlest piece of broccoli floret that has obviously fallen off the head of the healthy family that bagged their groceries before us. We agreed that she could take it home and both panic and excitement hit, where was she going to safely put it so that it would not get lost on the venture home. I tucked it in her jacket pocket and off we wen’t, without a thought in the world of how this could effect me 8 hours later.

After humoring Sofia and playing along with her evening stall tactic, I eventually get her off to bed, I spend 20 minutes tidying up from dinner, and sit down to find this. Sofia had tucked her new baby broccoli in for the night. It sits amoung the other “lost things” in her jewelry box. There is a dried up broken leaf, 2 dust bunnies she found under the couch that apparently lost their way, and now this little baby Broccoli who’s motherless. They all share a bed made of 3-play toilet paper and a piece of felt rolled up for a pillow.

That’s when it hit me, I must be doing something right if she takes the time to care this much for the alone and forgotten. Right? 


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