We were putting Z to bed, and PL was reading to her the Ugly Duckling. And at around the part where the other ducklings were calling him ugly, and not wanting to be his friend, Z asked, “why the duckling have tears?’
“Because he is sad.”
“Why he sad?”
“Because the other ducklings don’t want to be his friend.”
“Why they don’t want to be his friend?”
Z is at the stage where she asks a lot of “why” questions.
“Because they think he’s ugly.”
“Because he looks different. He’s not yellow.”
“I’ll be his friend,” she declares.
“Are you also my friend?” I asked.
No hesitation. I must be even uglier than an ugly duckling.
“What about mommy?” asked PL.
I pretended to cry.
“See daddy’s crying because you don’t want to be his friend.”
The hard-hearted little girl is not moved.
“Will you be my friend? I asked PL.
“Okay,” she said readily.
We held hands.
Z would have none of that.
“No!” she says.
She’s saying “No” a lot too. Terrible twos and all that.
She breaks our hand hold, and tells PL, “I’ll protect you.”
I wonder where she learns all this.