Rissa May Stay With Me, Daddy Here

Now, suddenly, she looks me dead in the eye and says she’d rather hang out with... herself.

Not “with you.” Not “with Mama.”

She squirmed down, patted my knee with the condescension only a preschooler can muster, and walked back to her castle. Without looking up, she said it: rissa may stay with me, daddy

They’re not leaving you behind. They’re just finally comfortable enough to sit with who they are—and that’s a gift you gave them.

Twenty minutes later, she crawled into my lap without a word, smelled my shirt, and whispered, “Okay, Daddy. Now ice cream.” If your little one ever tells you they’d rather stay with me (meaning themselves), don’t hear rejection. Hear readiness . Now, suddenly, she looks me dead in the

The Shifting Tides of Parenthood

But real attachment parenting—the kind that raises secure, brave humans—isn’t about being needed 24/7. It’s about creating a base so safe that they feel confident wandering away. Without looking up, she said it: They’re not

She had just spent the morning at a noisy playdate, the afternoon in a tantrum over the wrong color cup, and now—finally—the apartment was quiet. The castle needed a roof. The dragons needed arranging. And Rissa needed Rissa. That third-person speech (“Rissa may stay”) isn't just cute. It’s developmental armor. Toddlers and young preschoolers use their own name because they are still merging the “me” they feel inside with the “Rissa” the world sees. When she says “Rissa may stay,” she is practicing autonomy. She is rehearsing the sentence: I am a person who gets to decide where I belong.