“Mommy, I have a frog in my throat – but it’s dead”
“Mommy, I have a frog in my throat – but it’s dead”, Leah, my four-year-old, told me.
She announced this in the matter-of-fact tone one might advise that her favorite animal cracker had just fallen to the floor. Not worried. Not complaining. Just calmly issuing a biological update from the preschool infirmary of her imagination.
“How do you know it’s dead?” I asked.
Because, really, what else could I query? There are only so many ways to respond when your four-year-old claims to be harboring a deceased amphibian in her esophagus. Also, I didn’t know the official protocol for conducting a post-mortem interview.
“Because it’s not talking.” She responded, delivering her frog autopsy.
I resisted the urge to ask whether the frog had previously shown signs of verbal aptitude or if this was a new requirement when diagnosing internal wildlife.
Instead, I simply nodded-gently, respectfully- as one does when their child speaks of fallen throat-frogs with such conviction or the solemnity of a junior coroner. Honestly, I’ve heard sketchier medical theories from adults with stethoscopes that have framed diplomas.
So, if she said there was a dead frog in her throat, I was not about to question it. Case closed.
I’m not sure what happened to the frog-ceremonially, spiritually, or metaphysically-but I can tell you this: he lives on. Immortalized forever in our household canon, alongside the worm funeral, the ant with a retirement plan, and the snails with full-time jobs and questionable work-life balance.
Years from now, Leah won’t remember the day she told me about the frog. But I will. Because it was one of those tiny, ridiculous, perfect parenting moments. One that makes you pause, smile, and wonder what other invisible creatures might be hiding in her throat-or more likely, her wonderfully wild and untamable mind.
It’s the kind of moment that doesn’t show up in photo albums or report cards, but burrows into your memory and stays there, quietly hopping around.
Even if it’s not talking.
©Momories 2025
