Having a ‘Feral Toddler’ in Your Friend Group: Why It’s Hard and What Actually Helps
Last Saturday, we met our usual playdate crew at the shaded playground by the public library. I’d packed extra goldfish and a tube of lanolin for my friend who’s breastfeeding her newborn, and we were all halfway through our first iced coffee when Jax, Lila’s 2-year-old, scrambled up the slide backwards and knocked my 4-year-old off onto the wood chips. Before any of us could move, he’d grabbed the plastic shovel my daughter had been digging with, then upended a full bucket of mulch onto Sarah’s lap.
Lila was already on her feet, apologizing so fast her words ran together, grabbing Jax’s arm to pull him back. He wiggled free, took off running toward the street, and Lila had to chase him down, her sandals slapping the pavement. By the time she got him back, her face was bright red, and she kept saying she’d just pack up and go home, that we all probably wanted her to anyway.
I’ve been in this group for three years, since our oldest were all newborns together. We’ve done sleep-deprived late-night texts, potty training meltdowns, shared babysitting, and sat with each other through bad pregnancy news. But no one talks about how hard it is when one of the kids hits that super wild toddler stage, the one that gets labeled “feral” in mom group memes. No one talks about how it’s hard for everyone: it’s obviously mortifying for the parent of that toddler, but it’s also uncomfortable and stressful for the rest of us. We leave playdates with scraped kids, spilled drinks, and a guilty knot in our stomach because we’re annoyed, but we don’t want to be the jerk who says anything. For months before that Saturday, I’d noticed a few of us were quietly making excuses to miss playdates when Lila said she was coming. No one said it out loud, but we all knew we were dreading the chaos.
After I put a band-aid on my daughter’s knee, I sat down next to Lila on the bench and didn’t say “it’s fine,” because it wasn’t fine. My kid was crying, Sarah’s jeans were covered in mulch, and we’d all been jolted out of our 10 minutes of peaceful chat. What I did say was that I remembered when my oldest was 2, I left every playdate crying in the car because she’d bitten another kid or taken their toy, and I’d been convinced everyone hated us. My neighbor, who’s a pediatric occupational therapist, told me later that kids like Jax are just extra sensory-seeking—they need more movement, more input, and their impulse control is still six years away from being fully developed. It’s not that Lila’s a bad mom, it’s not that Jax is a bad kid. It’s just where they are right now.
We talked it out right there on the bench, no beating around the bush, and came up with a few small things that have actually made it easier. The first thing we do now is pick the right space before anyone shows up. If Jax is extra wound up (Lila just texts us the night before, no shame), we skip the crowded public playground and meet at someone’s fenced backyard instead. Whoever is hosting moves any breakable or toxic stuff up to the kitchen counter before they get there— I moved all my potted succulents and my glass candle jar last week, it took 30 seconds, no big deal. If we want to go somewhere like the zoo or the bounce house, we always have one person who’s on “loose Jax duty”—that means we just keep an eye on him when Lila’s getting snacks or changing her oldest’s diaper, instead of expecting her to jump every time he moves toward an off-limits area. It’s not a big burden, most of us are just standing around chatting anyway.
The second thing we changed is how we react when something goes wrong. Instead of waiting for Lila to storm over and apologize 10 times, whoever is closest just redirects Jax right away. I use the same phrase I use with my own kid: “Pushing hurts. Let’s go run up the hill together” or “We don’t dump mulch on people, let’s go get a cracker.” It cuts the drama immediately, it doesn’t put Lila on the spot, and Jax usually takes the bait and moves on to something else just fine. No big scene, no endless apologizing, no awkward silence after.
It’s still hard, don’t get me wrong. Last week at the zoo, he climbed over the petting zoo barrier and we all had to pause while Lila went to grab him. Last month, he colored all over my coffee table with a crayon before I could stop him. I still get that split second of annoyance when he snatches a toy out of my daughter’s hand. We haven’t fixed the feral toddler stage, and it doesn’t get perfectly calm.
What’s changed is we don’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. We don’t lie and say it’s fine when it’s not, and we don’t ghost a friend because her kid is going through a normal developmental phase that’s hard for everyone. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and some playdates end earlier than planned. Jax will turn three next spring, and his impulse control will get a little better, and eventually this phase will pass. For now, we’re just figuring it out as we go, and that’s enough.
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