I’m trying to write my dump and it feels clunkier than usual. Like I’m on a typewriter but it’s my brain.
I could never do the clunk clunk clunk of a typewriter. I could never do the CHING noise.
My mom had one. I loved to play with it. It was heavy as hell, and she’d warn me every time not to move it. I never would.
If I warn my daughter not to do something she does it. If I don’t, she does, too.
That’s a way in which I have no idea how to parent her. The balance between safety and curiosity is this dance we dance that I find exhausting each day.
I have no idea if I have childcare for the summer. It starts tomorrow.
I need to figure this out today. And she’ll be awake any moment.
Happy Sunday, Dumplings. 🫂
🫂