A Montessori Moment at the Baby Gate

Our house is a split-level. We have a baby gate at the top of the stairs, which is near our living room and kitchen, and therefore the heart of our home. One of my one-year-old daughter’s favorite activities is opening and closing doors. Can you see where this is going? Today—I kid you not—she spent twenty minutes opening and closing the gate. Therefore, I spent twenty minutes sitting on the top step, watching my daughter opening and closing the gate. This beautiful and simple Montessori moment could have been so easily dismissed, but instead it turned into a gift for both of us.

A Gift for My Child

Most noticeably, my daughter showed interest in the concepts of open and closed, connection and disconnection, and a general sense of the structure and function of her environment. She was orienting herself to the place where she lives and mimicking an action she sees her family perform throughout each day. Opportunities to explore the environment freely are standard in a Montessori home. Children, even as infants, are treated as equal and respected members of the family. Our house is just as much my daughter’s as it is mine, and therefore she is free to move about, touch, and alter her environment at her leisure (within reasonable limits of safety).

My daughter was also exhibiting incredibly deep concentration at the gate. This is a crucial skill throughout our entire lives, and it requires practice. It is such a shame that we often overlook babies’ potential for concentration and fail to recognize it in action. Perhaps this is because babies focus on unexpected things, like opening and closing a gate, or picking a microscopic speck of fuzz off the carpet, or watching us chew our food. Or perhaps it is because it is so difficult for us to focus and work patiently as adults that we frequently break our children’s concentration, however unintentionally. We pick them up unexpectedly, offer them a toy we find more exciting, or decide that we must start bedtime right now. We continuously insert our comments and opinions, saying, “That’s a red block,” and “What does the cow say?” and “Good job!” Can you imagine if an employer stood over you and narrated your work this way? Concentration would be impossible!

As caregivers, especially in a Montessori home, it is our duty to recognize, respect, and protect our children’s concentration. We can pause before interacting with them, observe and admire their deep focus, and wait until they move on from their activity before engaging. We can warn them before we move their bodies (“I’m going to pick you up now”), and even wait for them to hold out their arms to show that they are ready for us. We can withhold our own opinions about what is interesting or clever and honor their unique fascinations, knowing that they are equally valid and carry a greater developmental purpose. I refrained from interrupting this moment at the gate as a gift of concentration to my daughter.

To be honest, there are a million reasons why I could have said no before the opening and closing had even started. I could have said, “No, that’s too dangerous,” or “Not now, I need to go wash the dishes,” or even simply, “I don’t want to.” In fact, it seems like there are a million reasons to say no to anything and everything, all day long. Have you ever noticed that? Sometimes parenting can feel like being a broken record, or like that song from Hairspray: “Stop. Don’t. No. Please…” I have learned that when I can reduce the amount of “No” in our day, it is a gift to both me and my child. Some people call this picking their battles; others call it creating a “Yes space.”

If I remove the crayons from my daughter’s shelf and choose to only make them available when I am working closely with her, then I don’t have to worry about her coloring on the floor when I look away. If I let go of the unrealistic expectation that her clothes will remain perfectly clean all day long, then I can watch with mirrored joy as she splashes in a mud puddle. If my daughter’s efforts have not been frustrated by an unrelenting stream of “No” since the moment she woke up, then when I do have to stop her from doing something, she is less likely to ignore or rebel against my instruction, and more likely to accept it willingly. Reducing the “No” creates space for more “Yes,” and this sets us both up for success. My daughter made it clear that she was interested in opening and closing the gate, not barreling down the stairs head first or smashing the gate into the wall. This was a reasonable and safe activity which I could make even safer by using my body to block the stairs. I paused and realized that I was able to give my daughter (and myself) this “yes,” and so I settled in on the top step.

A Gift for Me

While she was learning about open and close, I was learning about my daughter through a Montessorian’s dearest tool: observation. I watched her wrists turning, her tiny fingers grasping the gate, and her legs maneuvering to reposition her body. I noticed where her eyes fell and how she stuck out her tongue subconsciously as she focused. It is through moments like these that I can remain in tune with my daughter’s development. In these moments I discover what draws her focus, how far she has come, and what she needs to help her continue to grow. It is a gift to take the time to see my daughter for who she really is, free from my biases, beliefs, and desires about who she should or could be. Today, I saw my curious baby blossoming towards the mobility of a toddler. What a bittersweet gift.

If I had declined this opportunity for observation, I would also have missed out on a practice in mindfulness. I believe anything that requires us to remain mindful in our fast-paced culture is of great value. As I observed my daughter’s work, I quieted my busy mind and slowed my anxious body. I became a present but unobtrusive witness. Peaceful. Her delight in the simple task at hand brought me joy. Her repetitive motions were almost mesmerizing. When she at last determined her activity complete, we both emerged with clear eyes and new energy.

The next time you notice your child in a deep state of concentration over a task that makes little sense to you, I encourage you to pause. How can you protect that concentration today? Is this a place where you can add more “Yes” to your day? Is this an opportunity for you to practice mindfully observing your child? Can you give yourself and your child the gift of this Montessori moment?