This morning I pinched my finger folding up my son’s stroller, and I yelped “Oooww!” A concerned look immediately crossed my 2.5-year-old son’s face and he took my hand into his.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I can make it feel better.”
He examined my purpling finger and kissed it and then rubbed it with his fingers. It definitely made me forget all about my injured finger, as I adored his expression of compassion and care.
“He’s going to be a doctor!” my partner exclaimed from across the room.
We take turns calling out what profession we think my son will have as he demonstrates to us daily and moment by moment what temperament, interests and characteristics are part of his evolving self.
Today, he is the doctor. Yesterday he was the lawyer, negotiating with Jack, our neighbors’ son, trading his toy car for the ball. Another time he was the manager, telling his friends Ruby and Stella the best way to wash their buggies with the hose.