Maybe I’ve got it.

I can’t pretend for a single second to know what the fresh hell I’m doing as a mom…

…but when a kid lets both parents laze around on the living room floor for three hours (with their heads buried in books) as he very contently plays and explores on his own all around them, happy as a clam?

I want to then believe I’m at least doing something right.

(Now, have a photo of him intensely playing with my hair-tie like it was the absolute greatest thing since sliced bread, lol.)

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