Parenting Insights
By Sarah Thompson
Updated: Aug. 25, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 25, 2023
My youngest son, Oliver, embodies a high-spirited nature. To phrase it more delicately, he is undeniably wild.
Wild, as defined by the dictionary, encompasses two primary meanings: 1. (of an animal or plant) existing in its natural habitat; not domesticated or cultivated; 2. uncontrolled or unrestrained, particularly in the pursuit of enjoyment. Oliver exemplifies these definitions: he is untamed, uncontained, and unrefined. Consequently, I find myself perpetually fatigued.
Oliver’s “natural environment” coincided with the end of my previous marriage. He was the last child born to two exhausted parents striving to salvage the remnants of a family while everything around us crumbled. He frequently made his way into our bed, nestled between my ex-husband and me. I welcomed him with open arms, partly because he was my last baby, the tiniest one, and also because his presence created a wider gap between his father and me.
Thus, Oliver grew accustomed to being close, often nursing on demand like a lion cub seeking comfort. As the weeks and months went by, I began to observe certain patterns. It became apparent that he was never truly satisfied; his fists would clench in frustration more rapidly than my older children’s had when awaiting food or attention. His mealtime sounds were raw and desperate, and it seemed his hunger was never-ending. While I wished to foster his self-soothing abilities and encourage independence, weariness often led me to simply pick him up to quiet the chaos and regain some semblance of peace.
I soon found myself attributing his wildness to my parenting choices—my inclination to comfort him, my reluctance to let go, and the emotional turmoil of navigating a failing marriage. Instead of addressing our issues, we lay together in the stillness of the night, the child we created caught between a couple that couldn’t find closure.
As time passed, that marriage disintegrated. Oliver’s wildness only intensified as he grew. He was charming and strong-willed, sweet and affectionate, yet the concepts of “gentle,” “mild,” or “moderation” eluded him.
He was a whirlwind, always trailing behind. I often found myself repeating the same phrases: “No jumping on the couch,” “Please sit while eating,” “Close the door!” “Where are your shoes?” “Why are your socks wet?”—on and on it went until my voice was hoarse and my patience thin.
Initially, I thought his rambunctiousness was limited to our home environment until school began, and notes started arriving home from his teachers. “He’s a kind child but struggles to remain still.” Another note read, “Oliver is sweet, but he has difficulty keeping his hands to himself.” I would often find him in the family room, devouring his fourth string cheese while rolling around like a river otter.
“Oh, Oliver,” I would sigh, inhaling the scent of his sticky neck. “You must stay seated in class. Remember, use your eyes, not your hands.” He would wrap his arms around me, whispering, “I will try. There are so many things to remember.”
Convincing him to attend school was sometimes a challenge. One morning, he asked, “What do you do all day, Mama? I wonder about you.” This line of questioning made me anxious; I feared he might escape school like a clever monkey breaking free from its enclosure. Each day he returned home was a mix of relief and worry.
At night, Oliver insisted on being the last one tucked in. After saying goodnight to his brothers, I would climb into his twin bed, which was crammed with his beloved possessions—stuffed animals, completed sticker books, an art project, and even a box of Legos. My body would press against his as he nestled close, still finding comfort in my presence.
Occasionally, the sound of his breathing lulled me to sleep as I lay next to him.
As time passed, I attempted to navigate the wildness of my spirited child. There’s merit in structure and fitting in, and isn’t that a mother’s responsibility—to guide her child and temper the unruly spirit? However, I’ve come to realize a secret I’m hesitant to voice: I admire his freedom.
His wildness exposes him to a vast world, allowing him to love fiercely and learn resilience. He embraces life with an exuberance that seems unaware of societal expectations.
Though he remains small, there is still time. Despite the challenges and exhaustion, we are navigating this journey together. There remains space to embrace his wildness before it fades away entirely.
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Summary:
In this reflection, Sarah Thompson shares her experiences raising her spirited son Oliver, exploring the challenges and joys of parenting a high-energy child. Through the lens of her journey, she highlights the balance between nurturing freedom and instilling structure, ultimately cherishing the wildness that makes her son uniquely himself.
Keyphrase: Parenting a high-spirited child
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