Updated: Aug. 25, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 25, 2023
My youngest child, Noah, is what you might call a spirited little explorer. Of course, that’s a polite way of saying he’s a whirlwind of energy. Wild, in every delightful and chaotic sense of the word.
According to the dictionary, “wild” means:
- (of an animal or plant) living or growing in the natural environment; not domesticated or cultivated.
- uncontrolled or unrestrained, especially in pursuit of pleasure.
Noah embodies every bit of that definition: uncontrolled, unrestrained, and certainly uncultivated. And, needless to say, I often find myself utterly exhausted.
Noah’s journey began amidst the backdrop of my first marriage’s unraveling. He was the last child born to two tired parents who were trying to salvage what was left of our family. As a baby, he would often find his way into our bed, nestled between me and my then-partner. I welcomed him with open arms, partly because he was my last little one, the final piece in a puzzle that was falling apart. His presence between us created a visual gap, a reminder of the distance that had grown in our relationship.
From those early days, Noah became accustomed to being close by, seeking comfort in nursing like a little lion cub. As time went on, I noticed something remarkable: he was insatiable. His fists would clench in frustration much faster than his older siblings when faced with delays for food or hugs. His dining sounds were untamed, gulping down food with an urgency that seemed never-ending. He always wanted to be held and fed, and while I wanted to nurture his ability to self-soothe, I was simply too drained. With other children and a faltering marriage, it was often just easier to scoop up my spirited child and settle the chaos, even if only for a moment of peace.
Eventually, I found myself questioning my own role in his wildness. Was it my fault for feeding him in moments of chaos instead of allowing him to find solace on his own? Was I holding on too tightly, grieving the end of an era while desperately trying to cherish my last baby? The tumultuous space between me and my partner felt like a cage, and we lay there in silence, our child caught in this storm.
As the years passed, my marriage fell apart, and Noah’s wildness only intensified. He grew into a charming, strong-willed boy who radiated warmth and kindness but struggled to grasp concepts like “gentle,” “calm,” or “moderation.”
He was always on the move, and I found myself repeating the same phrases over and over: “Please don’t jump on the couch,” “Sit down while you eat,” “Close the door!” “Where are your boots?” “Why are your socks wet?” The list went on until my voice grew hoarse, my furniture showed signs of wear, and my head throbbed.
Initially, I thought his rambunctious nature was contained within our home. But then he started school, and I began receiving notes from his teacher. “Noah is so kind; he just has a hard time sitting still,” they would say. Another day, “He’s such a sweet boy but struggles with personal space.” I’d glance up from the note to see my son devouring his fourth string cheese stick and rolling around like a playful otter in the family room.
“Oh, Noah,” I sighed into his messy hair. “You need to stay in your seat in class. Keep your hands to yourself, buddy.” He would wrap his little arms around me, murmuring, “I try, Mama. I really do.” And as he climbed into my lap, now too big for such coziness, he’d lament, “There are so many things to remember!”
There were days it was nearly impossible to convince him to go to school. “What do you do all day, Mama? I wonder about you,” he asked one morning while we waited for the bus near a snowbank. My heart raced with worry—what if one day I turned around to find him cleverly evading school like a monkey escaping a zoo? Each day without incident was a sigh of relief.
This back-and-forth cycle of worry and relief became our new normal. At night, Noah always insisted on being the last one tucked in. After I kissed his siblings goodnight, I’d crawl into his small bed, which was overflowing with stuffed animals, arts and crafts, and a hodgepodge of treasures. It was a tight squeeze, but we’d settle in, and sometimes, just sometimes, I’d find myself drifting off to sleep beside him.
Time passed, and Noah gradually transitioned from our shared bed to his own little nest. I’ve tried to tame my spirited child because, after all, isn’t it a mother’s job to help her little ones learn to fit in? To guide the wild and unruly so they can eventually find their place in the world? Yet, here’s my not-so-secret confession: I admire his freedom.
His wildness, while challenging, opens him up to a world of possibilities. He loves fiercely, bouncing back from every tumble, seemingly unaffected by the judgments of others. He’s still small, and there’s time left for us to navigate this journey together. Even though it’s tough and often exhausting, I recognize the importance of allowing him to roam free and embrace his wild nature a little longer.
Conclusion
In summary, raising a high-spirited child like Noah is a whirlwind of challenges and joys. The journey involves embracing their wildness while finding balance in nurturing self-soothing and fitting into the world. As parents, we need to cherish the unique spirit of our little adventurers, allowing them to thrive in their own wild way.