I keep my mouth shut

The end goal of parenthood is a happy, well adjusted, self sufficient adult, right? We want our children to take risks and sometimes fail and learn and figure out who they are without too much intervention. And yet, why is it the hardest thing in the world to shut up as they leap from the cushion of the couch to the floor which is barely padded for a surprise dive?

I'm a firm believer in letting my children explore the world, but that doesn't mean it doesn't kill me on the inside to see them try something and fail, knowing that my intervention could've helped or given them extra support. 

There is such a balance when it comes to raising children, but especially toddlerhood. These little firecracker, wild people love to explore through their senses. Sometimes that looks like a big puddle on the ground and they feel the need to jump right in. My inner dialogue is always cursing up a storm, dreading the eventual laundry that is now an inch thick in mud, and wondering what kind of parasites are in that puddle. 

But yet, I keep my mouth shut. ​

We have a rock garden where there's one pride rock looking guy sticking up. The kids love to climb it. My mind flashes to one of them tipping off, hitting their head on a rock, and getting seriously hurt. But then they wobble, correct themselves. Try it again. They see a beetle on another rock and their eyes flash--I know they're debating on how to get there and what their body can do and if they can jump it. They can't.  

But yet, I keep my mouth shut. 

The playground is full and there are tons of older children playing and running. Lincoln, the friend-maker at all occasions, finds a boy and starts to join. The boy starts to go on a ropes course, way out of Link's league, but Lincoln joins him, trying to copy the foot patterns and get to the top. He struggles and his legs shake, kicking to move forward. Sweat drips from his brow, but he pushes up, copying the older boy. He's going to drop to the ground, there's no way he can get up that quickly, he'll be embarrassed. 

But yet, I keep my mouth shut. 

Layla, the copy-cat herself, always trying to do what Lincoln does and go where Lincoln goes, jumps onto the couch and is trying to move cushions just like him to create a slide. She lifts it, says "too heavy", but when I offer help, she says no. She lifts it, finally, a look of confidence on her face, but then stumbles, rights herself, but stumbles again. If she falls off, she's going to hit the floor, maybe the edge of the couch, get sooooo mad because she's such a strong-willed girl....

​But yet, I keep my mouth shut. 

These seemingly miniscule moments in every day life translate into these toddler's personalities. By trying things, failing, succeeding, figuring it out by themselves, and learning what their body can or cannot do, they are learning. They are figuring life out and building confidence that they can do things without the back up of their caregiver. 

This doesn't mean that their needs aren't met or they aren't supported. They have the knowledge that I'm there to ask for help if they need it (and they do this often too!). If they do fall and get hurt or scared or embarrassed, I'm the first one to give them a hug and kiss. 

But I'm also the first one to tell them to try again. Face their fears. Figure it out. Adjust their method. TRY AGAIN. ​