The Crocodiles Are Real (If You Let Them Be)

There are crocodiles under our sheets (which he calls his house).

I know this because Nico told me so, very seriously, while we were hanging out in bed last Tuesday. He also informed me that the monkeys come and go so he thinks they had been up to something suspicious overnight, and that I should probably not open the door (lift the sheets) without checking first.

I nodded. I told him I'd be careful. And then I sat there for a moment and thought — when did I last actually look at something and wonder about it?

That's the thing about living with a 2.5 year-old. They're basically tiny, unpredictable mindfulness teachers who haven't yet learned that the world has rules about what's real and what isn't. And honestly? I think we lose something enormous when we finally learn those rules.

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Nico's imagination has been in full bloom lately and I can't get enough of it. He tells me not to worry or be scared of the crocodiles because they are very friendly and if they tried to bite me, he will make sure I am protected and will keep me safe. They are also tiny crocodiles that he can carry around in the palm of his tiny teeny little hands.

Every day is a new instalment.

What I've noticed — what's crept up on me quietly — is that his world has started to pull me into the present in a way that nothing else quite manages to. Not meditation (I've tried). Not journaling (I try). Not even my morning coffee, which I usually drink cold because I forget about it.

But when Nico grabs my hand and whispers Mama, shhh, the crocodile is sleeping — I am completely, fully, entirely here. Not thinking about my to-do list. Not half-composing a caption in my head. Not worrying about things I cannot control.

Just here. With the crocodile and monkey. Under our sheets.

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I've been thinking a lot lately about presence — what it actually means, what it costs us when we lose it. We talk about being present like it's a practice we have to work at, a discipline, something we schedule into our calendars between the gym and the grocery run.

But Nico doesn't work at it. He just is it. Every crocodile is urgent. Every monkey is fascinating. Every invisible flashlight deserves attention right now, not later.

I'm not saying we should all start believing in imaginary reptiles (although honestly, why not). I'm saying there's something in the way children inhabit their world — fully, wholeheartedly, without one eye on their phone — that I want to borrow. Even just a little. Even just for the twenty minutes before the crocodile wakes up and chaos resumes.

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Some days are hard. Some days I'm distracted and impatient and I say just a minute more times than I want to count. Some days the magic of the Monkeys and the Crocodile is harder to access because I'm tired and there are projects to complete and the laundry has been in the dryer for three days.

But then Nico looks at me with those huge brown eyes and tells me something absolutely crucial about the monkey situation, and I put my phone down, and I look at him, and I think — this is it. This is the whole thing right here.

The crocodiles are real if you let them be.

And I'm learning, slowly, to let them be.

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Do you have a little one who lives in a world of their own making? I'd love to hear about it. Tell me about your imaginary crocodiles in the comments — or find me on Instagram where I share more of these little moments as they happen.