She had just spent the morning at a noisy playdate, the afternoon in a tantrum over the wrong color cup, and now—finally—the apartment was quiet. The castle needed a roof. The dragons needed arranging. And Rissa needed Rissa. That third-person speech (“Rissa may stay”) isn't just cute. It’s developmental armor. Toddlers and young preschoolers use their own name because they are still merging the “me” they feel inside with the “Rissa” the world sees. When she says “Rissa may stay,” she is practicing autonomy. She is rehearsing the sentence: I am a person who gets to decide where I belong.
And here’s to the dads who learn to sit two feet away, waiting patiently for the next lap invasion. rissa may stay with me, daddy
There’s a phrase I never expected to lodge itself so firmly in my chest. She had just spent the morning at a
When Rissa says, “Stay with me,” she’s not pushing me away. She’s inviting me into a more advanced level of trust. She’s saying: I know you’re right there if I need you. But for now, I’ve got me. I sat down two feet away from her castle. Not inside it. Not directing it. And Rissa needed Rissa
So here’s to the Rissas of the world. May they always feel like they’re good company to keep.