This past week, we had the Beannut baptized. The ceremony was held during her naptime and I worried that she’d be freaking out and unmanageable through the ceremony and sleeping off in a corner during our luncheon. Instead, she was nothing short of angelic. Similarly, on Thanksgiving, she didn’t nap enough and had been pretty tired when we arrived at my mom’s house for dinner. I was worried that I’d be battling the wrath of toddlerdom while trying to enjoy my turkey. But she was pleasant, entertaining, sweet, calm, and fun.

Any parent knows that a child’s behavior on a given day can be as predictable as the weather, and there are times when it’s simply the sun and the moon and the stars lining up and nothing else. You’ve told yourself since long before having children you’d never be *that* parent–the one in Target rushing through aisles with an arching, screaming, red-faced child pounding on you. Until you are. And you’re never really certain how much of your child’s behavior is nature, nurture, or myriad other things like hunger, tiredness, teething, sickness, divine intervention.

But some part of you *would* like to think the way in which you raise your child–the decisions you make about their upbringing–do play a role in what you get back.

After both of these events–the Beannut’s baptism and Thanksgiving a few days later–I received countless compliments on the Beannut’s manners. “She is just lovely. So sweet.” “She’s so well-behaved.” “She’s an angel.” “She’s so happy.”

It’s a thrill as a mother to hear these things. And I also have some insider knowledge that my daughter is at the age where she relishes in receiving attention from others. Last Sunday, she looked out onto a congregation of about two-hundred people as they all smiled back at her. She was wearing a gold bracelet and a band of white rosette flowers in her hair. She had a custom-made dress on of dupioni silk and more flowers, tiny white satin shoes with ribbons that tied at her ankles. She was beaming. What little girl wouldn’t be? But there is something else.

Her interactions with others are what I think people comment on most. She is gentle. She leans in to kiss you with the aplomb of a butterfly approaching a flower petal. She looks you in the eye and genuinely smiles–flashing her two, new, bottom teeth. First she observes and then she carefully considers her every interaction; she often watches me for cues on what’s okay, what’s safe, what might be potentially harmful.

We have that kind of bond.

Without having spent the time I did with her these past fifteen months–nursing, cosleeping, holding, playing, interacting, being with her day and night (a feat, in itself, that deserves a separate post)–I would not be as cued in as I am with her needs. And for a pre-verbal fifteen-month old who knows only a handful of signs with which to communicate (“more” “eat” “all done” etc.) the role of the person who can interpret needs is integral to her well-being. Imagine being in a relationship where your partner is only half-sure about what it is you’re asking for at any given moment, where you have to use a few select signs to communicate what you need–sure, your needs as an adult may be more complex than those of a child … but that’s debatable (I have a hunch that most adult arguments arise from an unmet need for safety, love, attention, nurturing, and so forth).

Imagine a child who is whining, twisting, arching, pulling at you and you turn to them and say “What? Stop being so whiny! What?” This exacerbates both their frustration and yours. They’re past the point of having whatever need is there and not being met to an all-out meltdown; frustration on the part of the parent sends more signals that their needs are not going to get met, more panic and further meltdown, and the cycle continues.

When my sister called the day after Thanksgiving to ask how the Beannut got “this way,” and was it because she “doesn’t have a lot of toys,” at first I laughed–heartily–but then it hit me … the misconceptions out there both about attachment parenting and theories around “spoiling your child” …

All the same people who, in the early days, criticized me for nursing past six months, nursing past a year, holding her too much, not putting her in her crib or in another room or letting her just cry or cry it out, or eat food before four months or “toughen up” or “train” her to do this or that are now in awe of her, calling me to compliment her, to ask me how I did it.

There is a misunderstanding that kids can actually be spoiled. And I don’t believe they really ever can be–radical as that may sound. There’s a misconception that kids who “get everything they want” [i.e., lots of toys] are spoiled and misbehave, when really it seems the issue lies in too many toys … in place of loving attention and interactions with others … leaves them hungry for connection.

The Beannut has the toys she needs right now. We’ll get her a few more for Christmas–carefully selected ones I know she’ll like–a set of leggos, a toy radio, a play barn–but I’ll continue to take her places with me, to let her participate when I cook, to hold and nurse her, talk to her and read to her, be a gentle parent and provide for her a sense of security, growing trust, communication, exposure to people, songs, music, dance, art. It’s a balance.

Kids who feel deprived (and not deprived of toys but of connection) … will behave in ways that most see as “inappropriate” or, worse, as a reaction to being “spoiled” … when what they’re really asking for is to be held, fed, loved, played with, nurtured, seen and heard. The equation isn’t “Give your kid less toys so they’ll appreciate more.” Or “Deprive them so they don’t expect much.” I think it’s something more like Give your kids toys and a really good dose of all the good things moms and dads can provide–togetherness, attention, security, affection, being included, valued, listened to, nursed, comforted …

Like anything else, when you try to “cut corners” with parenting–when you turn your attention away, fail to understand, shut down, close the door… there’s going to be fallout. I’ve been there. And I struggle with this every day. The BeanPa works long hours, but he sleeps, at night, with Beannut curled up next to him. I miss my writing, my studies, traveling, and yoga, but I’ve chosen, for now, to give my fullest attention to my growing “baby” who, in just a few more years, will be going off to school. I’ll naturally be able to return to some of my other passions. We live in a small apartment–and as much as I dream of a big old farmhouse with a finished but rustic interior, a wildly gorgeous kitchen that welcomes guests with warmth and wine … that’s for another time. Or maybe not at all. For now, the choice for one of us to remain home with the Beannut means no homeownership.

Hopefully, in the end, what will matter is not how many toys she had or didn’t have, but how much love she feels around her, how much she is seen and understood, and how well her needs are being met. Meeting needs–as we know from our adult relationships–doesn’t spoil us, so much as make us feel loved, special, important, safe, and secure enough to be compassionate, gentle, generous, and kind human beings.