My three year old had a busy day yesterday.

She had her very first soccer “practice” where I foolishly expected her to push her way through the crowd, dribble up the field, elbowing anyone who got in her way and tackle the goalie while she scored her way to a better fitting jersey.

Instead, she cried the first half of “practice” then angrily followed the play (sort of) for the final ten minutes and during the handshake she skipped/stomped in a combined physical expression of “I’m so glad this is over and I’m really angry at my parents for signing me up for this.”

Later when she had calmly asked me to smell her finger, I thought this would be a moment to sit down beside her, smell her finger and figure out what she thought her finger should smell like in that moment.

Maybe her soccer shin pads? Perhaps the tim-bit I bribed her with pretending to be whispering motivational thoughts in her ear, but secretly begging her to stop sobbing/embarrassing me? What if it was the sweet smell of the nectarine container she had licked clean on the car ride home?

The truth is I thought her finger smelled like an anus.

I said to her, “Hmmm Chloe. What do you think your finger smells like?”

She said, “I think it smells like my bum.”

That makes two of us.