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16-Month-Olds Are My Kryptonite
It’s not her fault — it’s mine. This phase just isn’t my thing.
By Jamie Thompson
Updated: Feb. 20, 2024
Originally Published: May 13, 2022
Every morning, my daughter wakes up ready to conquer the world. I lift her from her crib and lead her to breakfast, and that’s where the chaos begins. In her highchair, she flings more food than she consumes, immediately demanding to be freed from her restraints. She insists on sitting at the big-kid table and can’t resist climbing on and off the kitchen counter. Each time she scales that counter, I have to put her back down, again and again. When my patience wears thin, I set her on the floor, and her favorite game, “open and close,” commences. Every drawer and cabinet swings wide open as I chase after her, ensuring she doesn’t grab anything dangerous. Each boundary I set sparks her frustration, leading to a dramatic meltdown on the kitchen floor, head in hands, kicking and shouting. By 6:45 a.m., we’re both exhausted, and I’m left wondering how it’s only morning.
This is my fourth experience with this age group, and as predictable as the sunrise, I find myself at my wits’ end. It’s not her; it’s just not my style. While newborns feel like the Super Bowl and babies are pure joy, this tumultuous middle ground — the sixteen-month frenzy — is my kryptonite.
She’s capable and determined but wholly unaware of safety. I spend my days acting like an overzealous bodyguard, constantly between her and anything remotely dangerous, from traffic to playground equipment. She’s fearless, always attempting to conquer towering rocks and high jungle gyms. Her agility is astonishing, yet her toddler clumsiness often leads to tumbles that send a wave of panic through me as I dart to catch her mid-fall. I’m like an exhausted sheepdog, forever trailing behind her.
Despite her food-throwing tendencies at mealtime, she has no qualms about sampling everything off the floor. Bouncy balls, play dough, and even Croc charms have made their way into her mouth. I’ve even discovered an LOL Surprise Doll microphone and stick-on earrings hidden in her diaper. Talk about accessories! Her go-to snack? Whipped cream — straight from the can. I often find her standing in front of the fridge, door ajar, reaching for her treat. Not sure where she picked that up. (Oh wait, it was me.)
She embodies the perfect contradiction of strong opinions and limited communication. She struts around like a tiny dictator, locking eyes with me and issuing commands — all in one-syllable yells that are utterly indecipherable. I do my best to decipher her demands while she looks back at me in disbelief, unable to grasp my confusion. Outings with her older siblings take on a whole new level of complexity. With her in tow, museum trips, dinners out, and beach days feel like I’m tackling a Tough Mudder in heels. Even at the park, I find myself chasing her as she tries to dive into the trash can or munch on mulch. The swings, though — she adores those. Sounds simple, right? I just push her a million times while she giggles and burps. But for reasons I can’t articulate, I despise the swings. What seems like an easy task makes me feel queasy and frustrated. I’d much rather sit on the bench and watch. Call me crazy.
I adore my daughter, but she’s currently caught in a transition between two stages I cherish. She’s outgrown napping on my chest but isn’t quite ready for imaginative play. I can’t strap her to me, yet she’s too little for scooter rides. She’s brave yet reckless, assertive yet nonverbal, determined yet often clumsy. She’s lovable and amazing, but oh boy, is she challenging. While I’m not wishing this time away, I can’t help but look forward to the next phase.