My toddler and natural consequences

I was listening to the radio the other day when one of those segments came on where an expert fields questions from parents and tells them How To Cope. I like these segments; if it’s a parenting problem I don’t have then I feel sympathetic smugness, and if they have one of my problems then I can garner a bit of advice.

 

This time, crime and punishment of the toddler variety was discussed. Highly relevant in my life and I paid close attention. This expert was not in favour of punishments like the naughty step, which he argued are too disconnected from the misbehaviour to have much effect on future behaviour. Natural consequences, he said, that’s the way forward.

 

Pour your milk on the floor? Cleaning it up is a natural consequence, not exile to some designated naughty area for two minutes. This was a lightbulb moment, so utterly common-sense. A-ha, I thought, this will change our lives.

 

Today the two year old splattered strawberry Petit Filous around the living room. It dribbled down a window, congealed on curtains, dappled the carpet and armchair. Fighting my inner impulse to run away from home, I instead handed her a pack of wipes and pointed out that making a mess means cleaning up after ourselves.

 

She stared at the wipes, and I inwardly panicked; what if she refused to clean up? What’s the natural consequence of ignoring the first natural consequence? Fortunately I didn’t have to figure it out, she set to work, moaning a bit, encouraging me to get involved.

 

She did a poor job. The glass smeary. A patchy bit on the arm of the chair. But still, I thought, great, this works, she’ll think twice before she slings dairy products around the house again. 

 

Releasing her from clean up, I surreptitiously improved upon the job she’d done, then turned and realised the dreaded yoghurt pot remained under her control. She was attempting to jam her foot into it, smearing her toes with the remainder of the pale pink ooze.

 

It’s a natural consequence, I reflected, of my allowing a two-year-old free rein with yoghurt. My crime, my punishment.

Daisy Wilson is a freelance writer who lives and works in West Cork. Mum to an almost-teenager and a toddler who is striding through the terrible twos with a glint in her eye, life is noisy, fun and covered in fingerprint marks.

 

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