C has had a rough time lately. Her mama has been super stressed and busy because of life, work, and illness, and C feels it. While she went through a clearly dad-centered period a while back, she is currently completely mom-focused.

If you’ve ever had a toddler, you know that toddlers show stress in funny ways. She doesn’t understand when she’s stressed, and she can’t vent it like an adult would. Instead, she is clingy, fussy, and latches on to things.

This week, in addition to her mama, C has clung to her four-year-old cousin A’s polka-dotted hat, which she refers to as her “polky dot” hat. She wore it for ten minutes Tuesday afternoon, and she talked, fussed, screamed, dreamed, and cried about it for twenty-four because she couldn’t have it back and didn’t understand why.

So yesterday, A’s mom had pity on C and let her take the hat home with her. She was in heaven. She wore it for 24 hours straight and was as happy and content as I’ve seen her in weeks.

Unfortunately, though, A saw C in the hat before they left work today. And she melted down. C had just woken up from her nap, but she understood that her older cousin – whom she idolizes – was upset. So I crouched down beside her and quietly asked her if she could give the polky-dotted hat to A. She took off the hat and looked at it in her hands. Meanwhile, A’s mom tried desperately to convince A to let C borrow the hat a bit longer. And I asked C again if she could give the hat to A. She slowly said no, “it’s my polky-dotted hat,” she said as she stared at it with a look much older than her twenty-seven months should have allowed.

Then I quietly asked again “C, will you give A the hat?” C looked over at her still-bawling cousin, and it still makes me tear up to think about it. C walked over to her cousin and handed her the hat, saying something in two-year-old gibberish. Her cousin A was immediately pacified and ran down the steps, and C stared at her a few seconds before following.

C and I left for home a few minutes later, and that was the first forty minute commute in little C’s life where she didn’t have a single bottle. She just sat there, no doubt thinking thoughts usually reserved for much older kids. And I was so proud of her – and hurt for her – that I did all I could not to stare at her in the rear-view mirror all the way home.