Another day, another grand adventure with Sahiba!!!
The other day, I watched my toddler pick up a tiny tomato, dip it in a cup of water — water that had already seen bits of banana, crumbs of bread, and something unidentifiably squishy — and then eat it with utter satisfaction. My wife, a fierce advocate of hygiene and cleanliness, winced. “She’s drinking that water again!” she exclaimed, her carefully taught lessons dissolving into chaos. But I couldn’t stop smiling.
Here she was — my little scientist — conducting her own brand of experimentation, dipping everything from cereal to crayons in water, tasting, observing, learning. It was a mess, yes. It was not in line with “best practices,” sure. But in her chaos, I saw something remarkable: unfiltered curiosity.
She doesn’t care if it’s proper. She doesn’t know what’s “right.” She’s not afraid of failure or embarrassment. She’s exploring the world with all five senses and no hesitation. And somewhere between wiping tomato juice off the table and fending off another gulp of murky water, I found myself wondering:
*When did we stop being like this?*
When did grown-ups stop dipping life into the unknown just to see what happens? When did we trade curiosity for caution, and learning for correctness?
We adults are obsessed with getting it right the first time. Mistakes make us nervous. We avoid them, hide them, deny them. But toddlers? They wear their failures on their faces — literally smeared across cheeks, noses, and hands — and then go right back to trying again.
*Why can’t we embrace that kind of messy learning?*
Maybe it’s because somewhere along the way, we learned that being wrong is something to be ashamed of. That curiosity is only valuable if it leads to productive outcomes. That being clumsy or naive is a flaw, not a phase. But toddlers remind us of something profound: growth is supposed to be awkward. Real learning is unpolished. And curiosity, when allowed to roam freely, can be the most beautiful chaos of all.
So while my wife tries to reroute our daughter’s hygiene education (bless her patience), I’ll continue marveling at the dipping, the sipping, the trial and error of a little human figuring out the world one soggy tomato at a time.
In her, I see the courage to explore without knowing the answer. The bravery to try without fear of judgment. The joy of being endlessly, wildly curious.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s something we grown-ups should try dipping back into.
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