The day begins like any other: We wake up around 7, lift Sasha from her bed, and plunk her down in the living room with a warm bottle of milk while we get dressed. Nor does anything seem unusual on the subway—on a fortuitously empty F train, Sasha sits calmly on Jean’s lap, except for a brief tap-dancing session between Jay Street and York Street. Preschool drop-off is as uneventful as preschool pickup 9 hours later, and the Chinese-bakery bun Sasha munches on not only occupies her attention on the train home but fuels a three-block sprint home. Playtime, bath, toothbrushing, and a double reading of “Knuffle Bunny“—who’d noticed anything unusual? It’s only when Jean and I put Sasha back in the bed, coax her to lie down, and drape a blanket over her that we realize: She hasn’t cried all day—not one single solitary salty tear! Truly this is a joyous occasion!
Except, of course, it hasn’t happened. At least, not yet. It will one day—it has to. And I have a feeling when it does, we won’t even notice.
But I am increasingly curious about when this hallowed day might arrive. Is it a 2-year-old thing? A 5-year-old thing? Am I foolish to look forward to the Day of No Tears? Am I overly obsessing about the importance of not-crying?