A Tantrum, Tamed

Lately, my daughter has been playing favorites—I am the “winner,” and my spouse is the “perpetual loser.” She’s been hitting him, telling him to go away, or just generally rejecting his help.

I’ve been trying to stay inclusive of him, speaking to him with respect in front of her and talking to her about her feelings when she says things like, “I want to hit dad” out of nowhere.

Tonight, during story time, she decided to leave her dad out. She held the book in a way he couldn’t see and said, “I don’t want dada to see.” To give some context, our daughter doesn’t nap anymore and had woken up extra early that day. By bedtime, she was beyond tired and ready to be done. But I also wanted to support her dad and show her the importance of respecting him, so I gently told her that we were done with books for the night because that wasn’t kind.

And then, implosion.

Dada said goodnight, while I held the storm in my arms. She cried, fussed, and lamented, “I wanna read my book.” I knew what I needed to do, and I felt calm, wise, and strong in that moment. I held her, standing, saying “mmmhmm” a couple of times, but mostly just offering a steady, rhythmic presence—like the gentle ripples made by a rowboat. I allowed her to express herself without talking down to her, interrupting, shaming, or redirecting her.

Slowly, she calmed down. She asked for the water she had previously rejected during her brief tantrum. She drank, soothing herself, and I encouraged her to rest her head on my shoulder. She accepted.

Success.

I held her there for a minute, then we sat quietly for another moment. We eventually lay down together, which is part of our bedtime routine (otherwise I may have sat with her a few moments). She fell asleep quickly.

I stayed calm, feeling capable of understanding her emotions—her “sadness” over not being able to read her book was really just the result of extreme tiredness. And instead of negotiating or trying to fix it, I simply accepted it, bore witness to it, and let it go. I wish this for toddlers everywhere, having a caregiver who can see them and love them even at their worst.

Tomorrow, we’ll likely revisit why I didn’t let her read her book and how that might have made dada feel. But for tonight, we’ll just rest.