I’ve always considered myself a bit of a neat freak. From a young age, I found comfort in the organization and cleanliness of my surroundings. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not obsessively strict about it. If you forget to use a coaster or happen to spill some crumbs at my place, I won’t kick you out. I’ll just wait for you to leave before I grab the mop.
Having everything in order brings me a sense of tranquility, which is why it’s been a challenge to navigate the chaos that often accompanies raising a small child.
Let’s face it: babies and toddlers are inherently messy. Whether it’s mealtime, bath time, or playtime, a little one can turn a tidy room into a disaster zone in mere moments. For a long time, this messiness unsettled me.
During meals, I found myself spending just as much time cleaning up spilled peas and chicken nuggets as I did feeding my son. At playtime, I would follow him around, constantly picking up toys he left behind as he moved on to the next activity. I struggled to embrace the delightful chaos of childhood, trying instead to control every little mess as it occurred.
Then, I began to observe other parents—those who didn’t stress over every crumb or toy scattered on the floor. They allowed their children to dive into a plate of spaghetti without a second thought or encouraged them to explore freely, regardless of the mess it created. There was something incredibly freeing about this approach.
Through these reflections, I realized that by accepting the inevitable messiness of childhood, I could actually support my son’s independence and creativity. Each time I resisted the urge to intervene during a messy moment, I was allowing him to learn how to handle situations on his own. Instead of fixating on the disorder, I could focus on his remarkable abilities and growth.
My priority shifted from trying to maintain a perfect environment to being fully present in each moment with my son. Since this realization, I’ve consciously worked on tempering my inner perfectionist. I’ve learned to let him eat cereal without hovering, allowing him to spill milk on his shirt with the understanding that I can simply change him into a fresh one afterward. I’ve come to accept that toys can stay on the floor a little longer, and that clean-up can be a natural transition to the next fun activity.
When he paints, I no longer worry if he flips pages before the paint dries. Yes, the pages might stick together, but he’s engaged, happy, and the activity book was only a couple of dollars—not a priceless family heirloom.
My son is naturally spirited and active, and my attempts to keep everything tidy hardly impacted him. However, shifting my attention away from the mess has enriched my experiences and allowed me to appreciate our home life more. I hope that this change has also empowered my son to continue playing, exploring, and making the delightful messes that define childhood. I’ll be right there beside him, embracing the joyful chaos.
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