There is a kind of growth that doesn't feel like growth.
No sharp edges.
No cliff.
No turning point speech.
Just a slow, almost imperceptible widening.
I don't notice it in myself first.
I notice it in Marcus.
He is in the kitchen on a Wednesday afternoon, sleeves rolled, flour on his forearm, arguing with Eleanor about the structural integrity of a biscuit.
It needs to rest, he says patiently.
Eleanor shakes her head violently.
Now.
Marcus looks at me over the counter.
She is unreasonable.
She is three.
That does not mean she cannot understand gluten development.
I laugh.
You are negotiating with a toddler.
I am respecting her autonomy.
She wants immediate gratification.
She can want it.
She is not getting it.
He nods gravely.
Correct.
The argument continues in exag
