How do you allow your children freedom to explore while simultaneously ensuring they don’t kill themselves?  As a lucky parent of a “high-spirited” toddler, this question frames my life almost daily.  I’ve never considered myself a laissez-faire person, but sometimes I’ve erred on the opposite side of caution, alarming my friends and relations with the following story:

When said toddler was 15 months old, I let her play out on the porch as I tidied the kitchen from our breakfast hurricane.  I watched her through the window, working quickly as she tossed all our shoes and boots over the edge. 

This gleeful game went on for 5 minutes, until I checked and didn’t see her.  I assumed she’d headed around the corner to the swingset (her usual route), but when I jogged  there, it was empty.  I kept focused, calling her name and running full-speed as I searched the tool shed, another of her favorite haunts.  No baby. 

At this point my mind went to The Road, although in the adrenalized moment, I couldn’t imagine the worst.  I sprinted out the driveway, looked right, left, and finally–there she was, 100 yards away, walking through mud puddles in her sock feet.  She was headed to the apartment building on the corner where two guys were working on a car, blasting Sean Paul dance hall reggae.  The seductive beat was so loud I’d heard it from the kitchen.  Apparently so had my child, because she’d followed the music like a baby rat behind the Pied Piper.  Fifteen months old and she’d snuck out to her first party. 

Breathless, I ran down the road, snatched her up, and said “Hey” to the backyard mechanics.  They gave me quizzical looks but didn’t report me to Child Services. Privately I debated whether to tell anyone this story.  Should I hide my negligence from my husband even though the outcome was harmless, a funny anecdote that taught me a lesson?  Now I knew how fast this child could move, how fearless her temperament.

In the end, I couldn’t keep a secret.  Shamefaced, I promised never to let her alone outside again.  But I didn’t go to the other extreme.  I’ve seen mothers follow their newly toddling babies around, scooping them up before any spills or bruises could befall them.  When my girls were first walking they bore the evidence of it daily on their faces:  a purple lump on the forehead, a bloody lip.  They never seemed distressed, and I didn’t go mad trying to protect them from every potential mishap.

I even let my toddler play “Chair Rodeo,” her favorite game of standing on a chair, holding the back with one hand, and rocking back and forth in delight.  If I said no to all such antics, I’d feel like a jailer keeping my prisoners behind bars.  I did try a Pack n’ Play, but both babies howled in dismay when confined to its mesh walls, no matter how many toys I piled in.  For their safety and my convenience, perhaps I should’ve used more gates and baby-proofing devices, but somehow they’ve survived despite my benign neglect. 

The rise of “overparenting” has been a hot topic in recent news.  The New Yorker calls this hovering style “helicopter parenting,” “hothouse parenting,” or “death-grip parenting,” and in “The Child Trap“ charts its emergence in the past two decades.  The author ridicules a fictional Manhattan couple whose 4-year-old takes Mandarin lessons and has no manners.  I cringe at the caricature of two anxious parents who are utterly consumed by their child, unable to set boundaries, and obsessed with Baby Einstein enrichment products and infant extra-curricular activities. 

Yet I acknowledge that overparenting is what I am doing here in Vermont, along with many of my peers.  While I might be hands-off in terms of toddler exploration, I’ve taken an attachment path of extended breastfeeding, (some) co-sleeping, and intense involvement in my children’s daily routines– all while worrying if I’m doing it right. 

As a stay-at-home mom privileged enough to work part-time, I’ve felt guilty about seeking childcare for my girls.  And I’m self-conscious about admitting that my husband and I are desperate for an overnight together, that we dream of leaving our offspring for 24 hours and renewing the bond that created them in the first place.

The New York Times recently wrote that marital satisfaction now drops after children arrive–a the reverse of 40 years ago when “Baby Makes Three” was a recipe for a happy union.  Both mothers and fathers are spending more time with their children than ever before, and less with each other.  In today’s child-centered culture, we are passionate about our parenting, but something precious may be lost in the process–  the couple’s connection.  “Nourish your relationship like it was another child,” counseled my therapist.  But how to find the time, energy and childcare to take this advice?

One friend told me with a wry smile:  “My dominant memory of childhood is wishing my parents would just leave me alone.  Then they finally did, and it was awesome.” 

Apparently, today’s children also want their parents to back off and lighten up- and be more relaxed with each other.  Scientific research shows that parental conflict isn’t good for children’s happiness, says the Half-full blog.  So if it’s healthy for everyone when parents nurture their love, can I spirit myself away with the father of my babies, take a slow ride to a child-free weekend–together, alone, anywhere?

published in The Brattleboro Reformer– May 23, 2009

Tags:   Overparenting2 Comments