My Daughter, the Goldfish

A toddler, a bathtub, and Kendrick Lamar taught me more about resilience than any parenting book.

Image by the author with a heavy assist from AI.

She's 18 months' worth of spunk, sass, and self-assuredness. She doesn't ask permission, and she doesn't hesitate. She does new things every day. She opens doors. She opens drawers. She opens the pantry. And she takes what she wants.

She's my daughter, and she fears nothing except bathwater.

The first time she set foot in the big bathtub, she slipped and fell, submerging her whole body. It was brief—less than a second—but enough to keep her from leaving her feet in the bath again.

We've tried a few tricks to make her feel more comfortable. Her brother bathes with her. We splash her, and she laughs. We play with bath toys. We fill the tub with bubbles. But she won't sit.

Last week, I decided to have fun with it. As my wife washed the kids, I pulled out my phone to try to make my wife laugh, if nothing else. I found a Kendrick Lamar soundboard and played the relevant lyrics from his song "HUMBLE."

"Sit down. Be humble."

My daughter didn't understand the lyrics, but her eyes shot toward me as soon as she heard the beat. A huge smile formed. Without any prompt, she started to move—first, just a steady head bob in perfect rhythm, then she grabbed the edge of the tub with both hands and swayed her hips back and forth.

When the sound ended, she yelled, "Uh oh!"—her auto-response if something she's enjoying ends.

I played the sound a few more times, then broke down and played the full song—the clean version. She never sat down, nor was she humble. She was confident, carefree, and full of joy. She twisted, she swayed, she bobbed, she bounced.

It reminded me of my favorite thing about toddlers. They're old enough to have a personality all their own but young enough to know of nothing but the present. They have no concept of the future, and the past doesn't hang with them long. They are the embodiment of one of my favorite bits of wisdom from "Ted Lasso:"

"Be a goldfish."

They have no concept of rules or social norms. Once they walk, the main limits to their exploration at home are child-proof locks and their short legs. More than once, my wife and I have witnessed a jumbo carton of Goldfish Crackers walking toward us, grunting. My daughter brings them to us from the pantry, hoping we'll pour her a baggie or bowl.

If we do, she'll exhibit another fantastic phase of toddler development and mimic what she's seen us do: make a sound that's her closest approximation to "Thank you!"

As soon as she's finished, she won't hesitate to start a new quest to the pantry or kitchen for her next snack. There are tears and screams when we deny her, but they never last long. She doesn't let a little rejection stand in her way. She keeps trying. And I love her for that.

As toddlers do, she never stops exploring. If she finds herself stuck or can't work something out, sometimes I'll let her keep trying to see if she finds a way. If she doesn't give in to frustration, she often finds a solution.

She loves cuddles and tickles, but once boredom sets in, she'll get up and leave the room to find something new.

But even the most independent kids have their limits. Once she's tired, she's clingy and moody. If we leave her alone for too long, she'll yell for us or cry out. Once she's rested or her social battery recharges, her independence returns.

It's a joy watching her in this phase. She's discovering new things, finding her footing, testing her limits—and ours. It's a reminder that early parenting is a tug-of-war between the desire for your kids to find their own way and your impulse never to let go. Our kids surprise and challenge us every day, and as much as I can't wait to see them attack the world in their own way, I try to remember to do as they do and remain present.

I have no doubt my daughter will find her version of success and grip it with both arms, just as she does with a carton of Goldfish.

As much as I want her to grow and gain even more confidence and independence, part of me hopes she'll fear the bathwater a little longer.

---

Did you enjoy this post? If so: