Spirited. Impulsive. Insistent. Willful. You’ll understand that these words are not just descriptive terms, but warnings if you have ever encountered a toddler. 8 Things That Will Set My Fiery Toddler Off
If you were to look up “toddler” in the dictionary, I would not be surprised if the definition said: Walking contradiction with mood swings and ninja-like reflexes.
Because I am currently living with one.
My daughter is an emotional minefield that’s dressed up as a cute, chubby cherub. She has opinions. She is a woman of great stamina. She is a woman of fire. She’s a drama queen who has a PhD in protest. It’s like having a short, emotionally unstable leader of a union who is on strike 90% of the time.
She surpassed all her milestones in a frenzied manner. She crawled early, walked earlier, and if a medal is awarded for “Most Advanced Tantrum Technique”, she won it before reaching two.
Each day is filled with cuddles and cries. There are also standoffs. Our home? Our home? Here it is in its raw glory,
8 Things That Will Set My Fiery Toddler Off–and I almost respect her because of it.
1. The ultimate betrayal is the word “No”
This two-letter word is a powerful emotional trigger. You could as well be declaring war on my daughter’s soul if you say “no”. The answer is immediate. Her eyes are filled with betrayal, and her mouth is a perfect “O” for horror. Then, bang! The sound barrier has been broken.
No slow burn. There’s no slow burn. This is a full-blown explosion of emotion.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this. I’ve used the reverse psychology trick, where I say yes but then do no. That worked a few times before she caught on and gave me the look that said Do not insult my intellect, woman.
She says “no”, 75 times per day, herself. It seems that it is only a problem if I say it. Classic toddler logic.
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2. Offering Her Food (a.k.a. The Daily Hunger Games
It’s a challenge for both of us to endure the mealtimes.
It goes something like this: “I present food.” She stares at me with suspicion. She recoils when I try to coax her. Nothing works. I try to make it look like a dog, a plane or a train. I’ve cooked her meals lovingly, only to see her swipe them off her tray like a little Gordon Ramsay with an angry grudge.
Except for chocolate or chips. She becomes an angel from the heavens. Smiling. Cooperative. Sweet as pie.
There is no middle ground. She’ll act as if I poisoned her one day after eating a quarter strawberry. She’ll put dry sponges in her mouth the next day without hesitation. I’ve given up trying to understand. Survival is all that matters.
3. Remove Dangerous Objects from Her Favourite Toys
Do you know that toddlers will refuse to eat any plant-based food but will happily munch on a dog biscuit found 3 weeks old under the couch? That’s exactly where we are.
My child is drawn to danger in an unfathomable way. Her current obsessions are? Her current obsessions?
If you take away any of these toys, the outrage is so intense that it’s as if I just cancelled Christmas.
She knows I’m trying to steer her towards toys that are more appropriate for her age. She knows that I have swapped out the prize for a soft, squeaky toy duck and is less than pleased. Meltdown #842 of the day.
I am seriously considering buying noise-cancelling headsets or just moving into a padded bedroom for the next 12 months.
4. Try to keep her safe (apparently, I am the problem)
My daughter loves to play in her Dora the Explorer Onesie. She is as strong as a professional wrestler, and wails like a banshee when you try to strap her into a car seat, stroller or high chair.
You would think that I was trying to launch her into outer space by tying her to a rocket.
We fight the same battle every day. She stretches her back and flails her arms like she is auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. While I sweat, I pray that no one is looking.
I am the bad mother because I “imprison” her. It doesn’t matter that I am just trying to make sure she lives. Minor details.
5. Take Away My Tampons – Her Monthly Treasure Hunt
This deserves to be its chapter in a parenting memoir.
My daughter loves nothing more than finding my box of tampons. It’s just like Christmas morning. She will unwrap the presents, arrange them into little soldiers, put them in her pocket, and then parade around with a fistful of them, like a squirrel.
I have found them in the toy box of her daughter, the laundry basket, and, once, tucked into her socks like a secret charm.
When I try to remove them, they will, of course? Meltdown. Massive meltdown. She screams and grabs them as if I were stealing her favourite toy. I have now started hiding them, like a teenager would hide candy from their younger siblings.
Today is not the day when I will tell her.
6. Nappy Changes is the Olympic Event of the Day
It’s more like a full-contact sport than a routine task to change her nappies.
She flips and twists as if she’s on caffeine the moment I put her down. She rolled under the sofa during an escape mid-change. She would never wear pants if she had her say.
It’s not only nappy changing. Dressing her is just as dramatic. She rejects all three, then chooses one outfit that she can’t wear because of the weather, the state of her laundry, or the laws of physics.
The good news is that I don’t need to join a gym anymore. The act of wrestling her into clothes is both strength and cardio training.
7. Turning off the Wiggles: A crime worse than theft
I admit it. I’ll admit it. Sometimes, they’re the only ones who can calm her. They can captivate her with their peppy songs, bizarre costumes and endless energy.
But I would be damned if I turned it off.
Her face crumples the second that screen goes black. No polite protest. There’s only rage. Screaming. Disbelief. Betrayal.
She’s not just like The Wiggles. She wants to hear them. I have become Pavlov’s Dog. When I hear “Hot Potato,” it tells me I’ll get five minutes to shower, eat or drink standing over the sink.
I know that screens are hot topics, but sometimes choosing the Wiggles is better than losing your mind and your toddler.
8. Bedtime (AKA The Final Showdown).
After a day filled with tantrums and snacks, removing dangerous objects, and attempting to maintain peace, we reach the final boss: bedtime.
You’d expect her to be exhausted after a day of nonstop activities and emotional battles. But no. My toddler has untapped reserves of energy, like a phone that suddenly jumps from 1% up to 100%.
As soon as we say, “Bedtime”, it all begins: the wiggling and giggling; the negotiations, the requests. Water, blankets, new pyjamas and another song. Anything but actual rest.
She gives in eventually. She usually gives in mid-sentence or mid-moan. Her battery finally fails. For a few hours, there is silence in the house.
She’s ready to start all over again at 4.45 AM.
Bottom Line
My toddler is fiery. She is emotional, demanding and dramatic. But she’s also funny, loving, clever, wildly creative, and full of spark.
She tests my patience to the limit. She pushes me to limits I never knew I had. She’s teaching me to be calm, to let go, to laugh in the chaos.
It’s hard to be a toddler, but it won’t last forever. One day, the tantrums, battles, and fiery spirit will be gone.
I’ll continue to show up until then, even if I want to hide in the cupboard. I’ll buckle her up, avoid flying food and gently (or firmly) guide her.
Not so gently (but still) wrestle her into clothing
Under the fire, there’s a little child who is learning to love herself, live her life, and learn how to express herself. And I get the honour of being her guide, even if that means getting yelled at 12 times in a row before breakfast.
