I have one daughter who, all things considered, is a delight. With a bit of cereal, some hugs, Netflix binges, and bubble baths, she enjoys a pretty good life. She listens when I ask her to do things and has better manners than I do. Most of the time, I’m proud to call her my little one. But then she hits me with that fateful question: “Mama, can we play?” And suddenly, I feel like I’m facing my worst nightmare.
Here’s why that seemingly innocent request can send me spiraling.
I’m Confused by All These Characters.
What even is this? A fairy with dog wings? How does this creature walk around in a frilly dress with no support for its tiny feet? And why on earth does this “Child Doctor” come with 17 sparkly instruments that are now painfully digging into my knees? Where are the Barbies? Or the Cabbage Patch Kids? I can handle the classics; I can conjure up entire adventures with them. But instead, I’m surrounded by a mountain of toys that look like they came straight out of a toy factory on a caffeine high. Yes, I know I’m responsible for these toys, but sometimes I let her pick out what she wants, and suddenly I’m left holding a collection of bizarre cat figurines wearing lipstick. What in the world do you want me to do with these?
The Rules Make No Sense.
Wait, so Future Elsa can chat with Present Elsa? Is that how wormholes work in Arendelle? And is it really possible that Lego existed during the age of dinosaurs? If I so much as touch your lightsaber, I’m losing a limb, but if you wave it around me, I remain perfectly intact? I can’t fathom why princesses would have such lengthy discussions about bodily functions. And why does that bracelet grant you superpowers, yet the moment I try it on, it’s suddenly “broken” and “stinky?” I’m utterly lost.
I’m Exhausted.
While you were still snug in your dreams, I got my act together. I showered, applied lotion, slapped on some mascara, and fueled up on caffeine. I got us both ready, dropped you off, worked all day, ran errands, made dinner from whatever was left in the fridge, and then snuck away for a brief bathroom break. Now, after finally sitting down with a lukewarm cup of tea, you want me to play? Excuse me while I pretend to be in a coma until bedtime.
The Allure of the Internet.
My parents were probably better at this parenting gig because their biggest distractions were debating whether to choose Beta or VHS. I, however, have my phone—my portal to the world—just a finger swipe away. So forgive me if wrestling a taffeta dress onto a headless doll isn’t my idea of quality time. The Internet is full of wonders, inspiration, and delightful distractions. Ooh! What’s this? A miraculous new smoothie recipe on Pinterest? Suddenly, I’m inspired to create my own game called “Go See What Your Dad is Doing!”
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In summary, while my daughter is a joy, there are many reasons I struggle to engage in her world of play. Between the confusing toys, nonsensical rules, exhaustion, and the captivating pull of the Internet, it’s hard to find the energy to dive deep into playtime.
Keyphrase: Why I Can’t Play with My 4-Year-Old
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