I never anticipated the whirlwind that parenting would bring. Sure, I had planned, hoped, and prepared for my first child, but the leap from a child-free life to being responsible for a tiny human was an experience that left me utterly unprepared. You can’t fully grasp the magnitude of parenthood until you’re in the thick of it, and even then, it’s a steep learning curve.
When I found out I was expecting my second child, I thought I was ready. After all, I had already navigated the trials of motherhood once. I knew the challenges ahead, especially when it came to sleep deprivation. I felt equipped to handle whatever surprises came my way.
Then my daughter arrived. And once again, I found myself unprepared.
Initially, we reveled in her quirky personality. From her expressive eyebrows as a newborn to her hilarious growls, she brought joy and laughter to our home. But as soon as she started moving on her own, I realized my daughter was a force of nature.
She embodies the spirit of a wild child—untamed and adventurous. While my son is like a soft marshmallow—sweet and gentle—my daughter is like a packet of Pop Rocks, bursting with chaos and excitement.
I enjoyed nearly three serene years with my son before he became a big brother. Those years were relatively calm, filled with drawing and building projects. He might get the occasional bump from being too caught up in the moment, but nothing compared to the whirlwind my daughter has become. In just two years, she has escaped her crib, wandered off in silence to other yards, climbed to the highest points of playgrounds, and even licked a plumber’s Crocs. She has gotten her hands on all sorts of sharp items, from nail clippers to electric drills.
Those carefree days with my first child now feel like a distant memory. When I had solo time with my son, I could turn on the TV, and he would happily zone out long enough for me to grab a quick shower. With my daughter, though, if I need a moment to myself, I have to keep the bathroom door wide open, anxiously listening for thuds or screams. I often call for my son to check on his sister. Sometimes she’s simply coloring, but other times, she’s found a way to color the TV itself.
You might think that a second child would be a bit easier, but the universe has an interesting way of balancing things out. For every child who might throw a tantrum in a store, there’s another one who might sever the lawn mower starter with wire cutters while you’re just trying to check the mail.
This is why wild ones come second. If they were born first, many families would likely stop at one. There’s no taming a feral child. I’ve tried various strategies—timeouts, removing toys, endless conversations—but a two-year-old isn’t exactly receptive to reasoning. She either gives me a disdainful look or bursts into laughter and dashes away, likely off to find something dangerous.
While I wouldn’t trade her for anything, her fierce independence and boundless energy make me genuinely concerned about her future interactions with the world. I sometimes wish she would tire out, but the mental exhaustion from trying to keep up with her feels insurmountable. Napping seems like a tempting escape, but I know she would find her next adventure before I could even close my eyes.
In conclusion, nothing can truly prepare you for raising a wild child. You may love them deeply, but you’ll find yourself sleeping with one eye open for a long time.
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