She wasn’t exactly outgoing, but then again she wasn’t even two. She was so small, yet I could see she still had some adult tendencies while trying to find someone with whom to play.
She inched closer with a small toy in her hand, some kind of little wooden person that went with the large train table where the other kids played. She took quick look at me, maybe for support, maybe not. I smiled and urged her on. The child she approached was taller. Older. Also hesitant and unsure of herself. Maybe more so.
“Play?” she said in her small voice, the one she used when we were not at home. She gently placed the little wooden toy on the table in front of the girl, who looked at it for a moment before turning and running to her mother.
She looked at the toy, left behind on the table, and my heart broke a little. I wanted to reach out to the mom, to the little girl, and let them know it was okay, that they could be friends. But I didn’t. Instead, I picked up the wooden toy and started playing with my daughter.