My Toddler Daughter Hits Other Kids at Daycare: What I Learned That Actually Works
The daycare director was leaning against the front door when I pulled up, holding Lila’s chipped dinosaur lunch box and twisting a strand of her own hair. That’s how I knew it had happened again. Lila peeked out from behind her leg, mismatched unicorn socks slipping down her ankles, and refused to look at me. “It was the blue dump truck,” the director said, soft like she didn’t want to say it out loud in front of the other parents picking up their kids. “Third time this week she’s hit another kid over a toy.”
I mumbled my apologies the whole walk to the car, my face hot. Lila climbed into her car seat and sucked her thumb, staring out the window. I kept my voice calm when I asked her why, like all the parenting articles say to do, but she just shrugged. When we got home, I poured a glass of iced tea that I didn’t even drink, and sat on the couch googling “why does my toddler hit at daycare” until my eyes burned. I’d read all the thinkpieces about big toddler feelings, but that didn’t stop the little voice in my head saying I’d messed up. I don’t hit her. We don’t do spanking at our house. Where did she learn this?
I asked Lila’s main teacher, Ms. Rosa, to stay 10 minutes late after pickup the next day to talk. She said the thing no one had said yet: Lila’s the quietest kid in the class. She never yells or demands things when she wants them. She’ll stand next to a kid with a toy for two or three minutes, getting red in the face, and then just swing. She doesn’t know how to say anything before that. It clicked. I’d noticed that at home, too. If I was on a work call and she wanted me to build a puzzle, she’d just tug my hand or hit my arm instead of saying “mommy play.” I’d been brushing it off as just being clingy, not a problem with communication.
Ms. Rosa told me to stop just saying “use your words” because that doesn’t tell a 3-year-old what words to actually use. It’s like telling someone to speak a language they’ve never practiced. Instead, she told me to practice short scripts when we’re playing at home, when no one’s upset. That way, when Lila is frustrated in the moment, the words are already there.
We started doing this every other day during her afternoon playtime. I’d intentionally “take” a block or a crayon she was playing with, and we’d pause everything. I’d say the line out loud slow: “I was using that. Can I have it back please?” Then I’d give it back, and let her practice saying it after me. At first she just mumbled into her shirt, but after a week, she started saying it on her own when I accidentally grabbed her purple crayon. It sounds silly, but it worked.
I also started paying attention to the little signs she gives before she hits. She clenches her fists, her jaw tightens, and she stops talking entirely. Now, instead of waiting for her to swing, I walk over and name the feeling first. “You’re really frustrated that the slide is still taken, aren’t you?” More often than not, that stops her halfway. Once she knows someone sees how she feels, she doesn’t need to hit to get the point across. If she does hit anyway, we don’t do yelling or lonely time-outs. We walk over to a quiet spot together, hold hands for a minute until her fists unclench, then we go back to the kid she hit. She says she’s sorry, and we talk about what she can do next time. No big speeches, just that.
I used to think hitting meant Lila was angry or aggressive, or that I was failing as a parent. What I’ve learned is that for a kid her age, hitting is just the fastest way to say something when your brain can’t get the words out fast enough. Their impulse control is still growing, too. Even if she knows the right words, when she’s really mad, her brain jumps straight to action before she can think. That doesn’t excuse it, but it makes it a lot easier to handle instead of panicking and shaming her (or myself) over it.
It’s not fixed. Last Tuesday, she hit a boy over a turn on the slide, and the other mom gave me a cold look across the playground. I felt that same hot embarrassment all over again. But this time, Lila stopped before I even had to say anything, and blurted out “I wanted a turn” loud enough for everyone to hear. That’s progress, right? It’s slower than I wanted it to be. Some weeks are better than others. We still get the little notes folded into her lunch box some days when something happens at daycare.
I used to want a quick fix, a trick that would make the hitting stop for good. I read a dozen articles that promised that, and none of them worked overnight. Now I’m okay with the slow, messy work. We’re not raising perfect kids who never get upset, we’re raising kids who can learn how to say what they feel without hurting anyone. Some days that looks like a note from daycare and a quiet ride home. Some days it looks like Lila walking up to a kid and saying “can I have a turn please” and getting it. That’s enough for me right now.
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