The strongest psychic in our house is my 3-year-old daughter.

In our house, my husband works in psychology.
He is a reliable-looking person who works with people's minds.
And yet, the person in the house who reads people's feelings the best is probably my 3-year-old daughter.

Of course, my daughter doesn't read professional books.
She knows nothing about developmental psychology or counseling theory.
Even so, she catches with surprising accuracy when my voice as a mother is a little higher than usual, when my eyes are tired even though I'm smiling, or the sigh I let out after saying "I'm fine" when I'm not fine at all.

I am a person who likes to think.
Saying I like it sounds good, but in reality, I tend to overthink things.
If there is one thing that bothers me, I ruminate on it over and over in my head, and I end up getting hurt by a future that hasn't even happened yet.

My husband, for his part, doesn't show his inner feelings very openly.
He is a kind person, but his kindness doesn't manifest as a warm embrace, but rather in practical ways, like a towel handed over when needed or barley tea silently refilled.
In other words, we are not a couple who wears our emotions on our sleeves.

But my daughter is different.

For example, on days when I think, "I want to go to bed early today," my daughter is strangely high-spirited.
It might be a coincidence.
But no matter how I look at it, she seems to see through my exhaustion and attacks the softest part of my heart, saying, "Mommy, play with me?" "I don't want to sleep yet," or "Read this book."

Conversely, on days when I am truly feeling down, she strangely sticks right by my side.
She doesn't say anything unnecessary.
Even though her command of language shouldn't be as precise as an adult's, she is uncannily accurate in her timing when she asks, "Are you okay?" only on those days.
Where on earth did that little person learn to read my state of mind?

Just the other day, I was a little overwhelmed from the morning with kindergarten preparations and housework.
I thought I was putting on a calm front.
I helped her get dressed as usual, tied her hair as usual, and set out breakfast as usual.

Then my daughter looked at my face and said,

"Mommy, smile?"

At that moment, I was startled.
I thought I was smiling.
At the very least, I wasn't angry.
However, it might be that "I'm in a hurry," "I'm tired," and "I hope you don't spill anything" were all very faintly written on my face at the same time.

It's scary.
This child can see right through me.

If I told my husband, who works in psychology, about this, he could probably explain it theoretically.
Children are sensitive to their caregivers' expressions and tone of voice, they receive a lot of non-verbal information on a daily basis, and so on and so forth.
But before I hear such explanations, I simply think to myself.

The psychic in our house is quite accurate.

Moreover, my daughter's mind-reading is most accurate when it comes to things I want to hide.
"Mommy, are you sleepy?"
"Are you sad?"
"Are you okay?"

Sometimes, I wish she wouldn't see through me so much.
I want to look a little strong in my role as a mother, if possible.
I want to appear as if I have it all together.
At the very least, I want her not to notice that my soul has half-left my body in the kitchen in the evening.

But, that's probably impossible.

Children don't look at the finished version of us, but at who we are right in front of them.
Before they hear our polished words, they pick up on things like the shallowness of our breathing or the pauses in our replies.
And they react to what they pick up with surprising directness.

Sometimes that is dazzling.
Sometimes it hurts.
But it is also something to be grateful for.

As people grow up, they become surprisingly good at pretending not to see things.
Even if we notice someone's fatigue or loneliness, there are times when we don't touch upon it.
There are situations where that is easier, and there is a distance that is necessary as a matter of courtesy.

However, my daughter doesn't know about such detours yet.
When she notices something, she just comes up and asks, "What's wrong?"
There are certainly days in our house when we are saved by that innocence.

Perhaps the ability to read people's minds isn't about knowing difficult words, but about being able to properly notice the small changes in the person right in front of you.

Thinking about it that way, the one in our house who can use mind-reading the best is, after all, my daughter.
Not my husband, who is a mental health professional, and not me, who overthinks everything, but that little person who has only just encountered the world.

Today, too, I say "I'm fine" while wearing a face that is not fine at all.
My husband says nothing, just gathers the trash or pours some barley tea.
And only my daughter watches the whole thing.

She watches, and she understands everything.

...No, it's actually a little scary.

Since such a psychic sends me a merciless encore every night saying, "Read me a picture book one more time," peace never really comes to our house at night.

Sincerely, Kiki

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