As a mother of two boys, one relatively even keeled and one bona fide wild child, I’ve seen kids from both sides of the swing set.

Parenting a wild child is exhausting, frustrating, and amazing. Often, a wild child makes us want to pull out our hair.

Of course, there are times we call everyone we ever knew and tell them a hilarious thing the kid said. Or, we talk about the game they invented and detail the scrape that wraps around their leg like a serpent. A curious wild child teaches mothers about nature, bodily functions, and creative cursing whether we want to learn or not.

Wild child mothers recognize one another. We have our own tribe. We nod and smile at each other, much like the way people riding motorcycles wave to each other. We also share common experiences, like these.

When a wild child’s eyes seem to focus on something hundreds of yards away, or their eyes travel in opposing directions, then shit is about to go down. If your wild child reaches the ‘thousand yard stare’ stage, then batten down hatches, hold on to something, and wait. You can’t predict or prevent what will happen.The good thing? Your wild child eventually falls asleep.

When they sleep, they sleep like the dead. Except for when they don’t.

Sometimes, when they laugh, it’s not because they find something funny. Sometimes, when they’re afraid they’ve gone too far or when they can’t turn the wild off, they laugh.That anxiety has to escape somehow.

When an even keeled child calls ‘Hey, mom’ from another room, they probably want a snack. When your wild child yells ‘Hey, mom’ from another room, they might want a juice box, or they might want to show you the snake they have in a bucket.

They can run for hours and still smell like sunshine.

Wild children speak in unfiltered blurts. Often, they don’t think through statements and what comes out of their faceholes can be maddening or insensitive. Sometimes, though, more often than not, they are hilarious.

Your wild child can make you laugh while you cry tears of frustration.

You become an expert on all the bones in the body. Especially, the most breakable ones, like collarbones and arm bones.

They love wheels. Scooters, bicycles, skateboards, and fast cars. They love them all. Wheels are the bane of the wild child’s mother’s existence. Wheels add to any frequent customer points you acquire at the ER.  

They destroy things in ways you wouldn’t think possible and any means will be employed: fire, flood, weapons or just good planning.They break everything from toilet seats to cars. Mini-blinds don’t stand a chance. If you rent your home and have a wild child, you can kiss your security deposit goodbye.

You need a savings account for your wild child. The money might be for college or bail. Either way, you need a wild child fund.

They have an impressive level of creativity and imagination that may not always be appropriate. Even when they use their powers for evil, you can’t help but be a little proud.

One day your wild child gets replaced by an adult with a job, car payments, and a receding hairline. While we miss our little monsters, we feel the relief that comes with not constantly holding our breath.  

Every once in a while, though, we see that wild child again. Maybe,  just in a grin or a sarcastic quip, but we get a glimpse. When we do, we smile. We also appreciate breathing freely.

 

About the author: Michelle Poston Combs writes humorous and serious observations on life, menopause, anxiety, and marriage on her site, Rubber Shoes In Hell.  She lives in Ohio with her husband and youngest son. She stands at the precipice of empty nest syndrome which she finds both terrifying and exhilarating.  Michelle programs computers to pay the bills. She counters this soul sucking endeavor by contributing to Jen Mann’s anthology I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, HuffingtonPost, Scary Mommy, The Mid, Better After 50, and Listen To Your Mother. Michelle can also be found on Facebook and Twitter

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4 Comments

  1. I have a feeling my nephew is one of these, probably takes after his slightly mad auntie 🙂 One can but hope.

  2. The description of your sons fits my sister and I when we were growing up. While she was a quiet angelic child, I was the wild one. Never mean spirited…. Just fly by my wild pants kind of kid. When someone asked my mother why she didn’t crack down on me harder, she said, ” Because I don’t want to break her spirit.” And I’ve loved her all the more for it.

  3. Hmmm, I’m not sure if you’re talking about me or my second-born child. Either way, aside from some of the differences between girls and boys, this shit rings true and has for my entire life! Awesome post!

  4. Pingback: Parenting Gone Wild | Anakku Harapanku Dunia Akhiratku

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