The Squirrel
Walking home from preschool a couple of weeks ago, on a sunny but windy day, Greta and I unfortunately came upon a newborn squirrel writhing on the sidewalk, clearly just fallen from the nest on a tree branch high above us. It was pink and wrinkled, eyes not even open, and it was grotesque and heartbreaking. Greta is an extremely sensitive, nurturing, animal-loving child. I cursed my decision to enjoy the sunshine. This is why I should just stay permanently in our SUV. But, standing over the baby squirrel, I was forced into one of those parenting moments where one is forced to weigh the truth (this baby squirrel will die) with the reaction one's child will have to that truth (wrenching sadness). I could have gone back for the squirrel and put it into a shoebox with a blanket, but to what end? So the girls could become attached to it and have their hearts broken when it died (which it would)? Reader, I lied. I told Greta the mother would come for the baby and it would be fine. ...