The other day, I was walking down a quiet alleyway heading into our village when I passed a mum with a toddler.
The child, circa two-years-old, was in the midst of a classic meltdown: arms flailing, legs kicking, and wailing like a screaming banshee.
It was loud, it wasn’t pleasant to witness, but as I passed, the mum gave me an apologetic look and said, ‘Sorry about this’, while clearly trying to remain patient and calm.
I smiled sympathetically and reassured her that it was OK, but I couldn’t help feeling sad that she felt the need to apologise at all.
Her child wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t blocking the path or doing me any harm; he was being a toddler, expressing big feelings, in the only way he knew how.
Yet, his mum felt the pressure to excuse his behaviour, to me, a stranger – as if his very presence in public was somehow offensive.
It is something that I have seen time and time again, both as a nanny and as a parent myself.
The rapidly approaching school holidays brings up a vivid memory in which I apologised profusely to the other passengers on a flight to Skiathos, after my daughter, then aged 15 months old, totally lost it the moment she was strapped onto my lap.
She didn’t stop screaming until she finally fell asleep nearly an hour later.
I had felt close to tears with the weight of the other passengers’ stares. I have yet to come across a parent who has not felt that flush of embarrassment, that sense of inconvenience and creeping failure when their child kicks off in public.
Suddenly it feels like every pair of eyes is on you, scoring your parenting out of 10. You catch the eye rolling, tight smiles and exaggerated sighs, the mutterings under breath.
Some people offer sympathy, but many act like you have unleashed a wild animal into civilisation. I get that hearing a child screaming for an hour isn’t pleasant – I can assure you, it wasn’t for me either.
The moment a child dares to be noisy, messy, exuberant – or, heaven forbid, upset in public – it’s as if these people have genuinely forgotten that children are, in fact, children. As they themselves once were.
It begs the question: why are we so uncomfortable with kids in public?
Here in the UK, it often feels like we are still in the era of children being seen and not heard – unless, of course, they are politely ordering a babycino without causing a scene.
We’ve had restaurants banning buggies, people calling for child-free train carriages on social media, and even playgrounds have been criticised for being ‘too noisy’ when near housing developments.
And the irony isn’t lost on parents. The same people who roll their eyes at kids glued to screens in public are often the first to tut when a child isn’t watching an iPad and is, instead, talking loudly, moving about, or generally being a child.
It’s a no-win situation.
Screens are seen as lazy parenting, but so is letting a child be screen-free and, heaven forbid, noisy or visible. We ask children to be quiet but offer no real way for them to be.
But here’s the thing: Children are part of society. They exist. They cry, they scream, they ask a million questions, and sometimes they have tantrums.
It’s all part of their development. Younger children, especially, don’t have the emotional regulation of adults, and for parents, it’s easy to forget that you are not raising a robot but instead a human being, who is still learning how to feel and how to cope.
We need to be mindful of this and rethink our expectations of how we believe they should behave in public.
This summer, perhaps we should challenge our discomfort instead of making parents feel bad for being out in a public space when their child is crying.
I’ve often wondered why we are so irritated by the noise of children. Is it really about them, or is it our own struggle to tolerate emotions and chaos – both of which children bring by nature.
Kids are loud, curious and boundary-pushing. But in a world where adults are under increasing pressure, stretched thin by work, cost of living, mental load, and a constant digital hum, our tolerance for anything that disrupts our fragile sense of control is wearing thin.
A child laughing too loudly, or crying in public, doesn’t just make noise; it jars against the quiet we’re desperately trying to impose on our overstimulated, overwhelmed minds.
This isn’t about letting kids run riot; of course, boundaries, manners, and respectful behaviour all matter. But so does compassion. If we want children to grow into well-adjusted adults, they need practice being in public spaces, not exile from them.
A little patience, a smile, or even just withholding judgment can go a long way – fewer stares, less annoyance and a little more reassurance and empathy.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk.
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