I wonder if a toddler has always been a toddler. What I mean is, how did parents across time deal with this fascinating phase that, from a parent’s perspective (and likely the kid’s too), alternates widely between awe and anxiety?
Did pioneer toddlers insist on helping with the churning, knocking over the churn and spilling the hard-won milk in the process?
Did mediaeval toddler parents whip out the sketch book to capture kiddo walking around in dad’s good suit of armor shoes? How did renaissance mom encourage her child to draw, but not to eat the conté crayon or scribble on the palazzo walls?
How did emigrant mom navigate the street market with curious kids in tow, pulling the live chickens off their shelves, while trying bargain in an as of yet unlearned new language, while simultaneously keeping the kiddies out of the way of horses, screaming fishwives and buckets of slop thrown from windows?
When dad brought home that latest fan-tab must-have toy, ye olde fishin stick, did the tot toss it aside in favor of the box it came in?
Was potty-training easier when all they had to go in was a pot? And just how do you baby-proof a castle?
Deep thoughts for sure. Yesterday Colin and I had a grand old time in the yard with an old garden hose, one of us on either end, whipping it back and forth to make s-waves. Made the bop giggle like a loony bird.
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