A Small Hand, A Big Hello
A little reminder of how easy it once felt to say hello.
Letter from the Nursery at 12:13pm with a depleted social battery
Dear baby girl,
You don’t know this yet, but making friends as an adult is hard.
Not because we’re incapable, but because the opportunities shrink. The rooms get smaller. The stakes feel higher. We carry history now. Rejection we still remember. Calendars that decide for us. Somewhere along the way, we learn to scan a room instead of enter it.
But you don’t hesitate.
Right now, the whole world feels like your friend.
If you wave, someone might smile and wave back.
If they don’t, because they’re distracted or overwhelmed or already deep inside their day, you don’t stop. You don’t pause to wonder why. You just turn to the next person. The next face. The next moment waiting to be noticed.
On Friday night, we took you to a local Chinese restaurant because everyone needed a break from cooking. You caught the hostess’s eye before we even sat down. From there, you worked the room—waving at nearby tables, smiling at staff as they passed, turning an ordinary dinner into something warmer.
By the end of the meal, the hostess sent over dessert. Not because we asked. Just because you made people feel seen.
I sat beside you, half eating, half watching, quietly amazed at how easily you move through a room, how you don’t overthink it, how you don’t wait to be invited.
The next morning at swim class, the pool was full. New kids. Nervous tears. Parents hovering close. You slipped in like you were president of the welcoming committee. You waved at every child, every teacher, every parent within reach.
Some of the kids were unsure. Some cried because everything was new and loud and wet. You noticed, but it didn’t slow you down. You kept waving. You kept smiling. You kept going.
Today at Costco, before you were even out of your car seat, your waving hand was ready. Some people lit up instantly. Others stayed in their own worlds, focused on carts and lists and getting through the day. You took it all in stride, moving on to the next smile, the next towering shelf, the next possibility.
When we sat down with the required hot dog and pizza slice, you waved at a man in an electric wheelchair waiting quietly for his food. He looked up. You met his eyes. And just like that, both of you lit up, waving back and forth, smiling like old friends who didn’t need words.
One day, you’ll learn that connection can be harder. That not everyone meets you where you are. That some places, even beautiful ones, can feel distant. There’s a name for it here: the Seattle Freeze. A way of being polite without being close.
But right now, you don’t know any of that.
Right now, you trust the world enough to try.
You trust yourself enough to keep going.
You believe that if one person doesn’t respond, another one might.
I hope you remember this version of yourself, the one who didn’t shrink, who didn’t keep score, who didn’t stop after silence.
Because bravery doesn’t always look loud or dramatic. Sometimes it looks like a small hand in the air, waving again and again, convinced that connection is possible.
And right now, baby girl, you are exactly right.
Love,
Mom(ster)
Momster Moment of the Week
We bought three bunches of bananas this week and I’m not confident it’s enough.This child eats like she’s training for something. I don’t know what. A marathon? A growth spurt? An Olympic event I wasn’t warned about?
It starts early.
Oatmeal. Oranges. Banana. Toast. Then more banana. Then a snack. Then another snack. Don’t forget lunch.
Over the last few months we taught her how to sign when she’s hungry. A parenting win, we thought. Communication! Empowerment! Fewer meltdowns!
I would now like to formally question that decision.
She signs “hungry” every 30 minutes, sometimes with a full mouth, food in both hands, actively chewing, staring me down like this is still somehow my problem. I’m also starting to suspect she’s quietly changed the sign for mom to hungry. Same hand. Same urgency. Different meaning.
How does a toddler eat more than a full-grown adult? How am I constantly preparing food while somehow never eating my own?
We are burning through bananas at an alarming rate. I feel personally responsible for supply chain issues. If you notice a shortage, please know, it was her.
Momster-Approved Mayhem
Here’s your permission slip to be a little ridiculous, a little selfish, and completely unbothered about it.
This week: Wave first. At a stranger. On purpose.
Like you know them. Like you’ve waved before. Like this is completely normal behavior and not a social experiment.
At pickup. In line. At the coffee shop. No conversation required. No introductions.No “sorry” afterward.
Smile optional. Eye contact negotiable.
If it gets weird, you are allowed to immediately look at your phone and disappear. Consider it friendly chaos.
Tell Me Yours, I Told You Mine
Baby girl is already showing us who she is—opinionated, curious, determined, and constantly surprising us. Some days it’s deciding she no longer likes food. Some days it’s arguing in her best babble. Some days it’s insisting she can do things she definitely can’t yet (like climbing the stairs to mom’s office).
She’s not one thing. She’s a lot of things, all at once.
So, tell me: What are the little pieces of your kid’s personality that are starting to show right now?
P.S.
If this season feels both joyful and strangely fleeting, you’re not imagining it. This is just what it feels like when a small human is becoming themselves in real time.
This letter swept me right into the softness of early parenthood — the Costco waves, the poolside greetings, the quiet hope stitched into every small gesture.
I felt my heart nodding at “somewhere along the way, we learn to scan a room instead of enter it.”
Yes. And how lucky we are to witness the ones who haven’t learned that yet — who still lead with openness, who remind us what connection can look like.
This was warm, wise, and gently hilarious. Thank you for sharing your little light with us.
I love this. You captured the way children never meet a stranger beautifully. I love how they’re open to engaging with the world in a way adults have forgotten how to. Thanks for this reminder today.