By Helen Lye
At the beginning of this year, our infant and toddler team found themselves feeling increasingly overwhelmed. The room felt busy. Kaiako were frustrated, feeling burnt out, as they felt they were spending so much of their day responding to children climbing where they shouldn't, taking resources from one another, and pushing against the social and physical boundaries of the environment.
On the surface, it appeared that the children needed more supervision, perhaps another teacher, so I stepped in to support them. But after spending time alongside the team, observing the rhythms of the day and the interactions unfolding around me, I began to wonder if something else was happening.
The children weren't simply testing limits. They were exploring them.
As infants and toddlers grow, they naturally begin to investigate the edges of their world. They ask questions with their bodies long before they have the words to ask them aloud. What happens if I climb here? What happens if I take this? What happens if I push a little further?
These explorations are a normal and important part of development. Yet when adults are caught in a cycle of reacting to each moment as it arises, the environment can begin to feel unpredictable for both children and kaiako. What became clear was that our team didn't need to become stricter. We needed to become more intentional.
We began focusing on clear, respectful boundaries. Rather than waiting for situations to escalate, kaiako started responding earlier and with greater consistency. Limits were communicated calmly, confidently, and respectfully. We trusted children to understand our messages, and we trusted ourselves to hold those boundaries without anger, negotiation, or repeated warnings.
As the adults became steadier, so did the children. Something remarkable happened. The room became calmer. This wasn't because the children had suddenly become more compliant; it was because they were able to borrow our calm. Infants and toddlers do not yet have fully developed nervous systems capable of regulating big emotions independently. Instead, they rely on the regulated nervous systems of the adults who care for them. When we remain calm, predictable, and emotionally available, children co-regulate with us. Our steady presence helps their bodies return to a place of safety, allowing them to think, learn, and explore. In many ways, the boundary itself becomes less important than how it is held. A calm limit communicates, "You're safe. I've got this."
The children appeared more settled. Kaiako felt more confident. Relationships strengthened. The boundaries were not restricting the children's freedom; they were creating the security that allowed exploration to flourish.
This experience reminded us that freedom and boundaries are not opposites. In infant and toddler settings, they work hand in hand. Children need opportunities to explore, experiment, and take risks. They also need adults who can confidently and respectfully define the limits that keep them safe and connected. When we shifted from reacting to responding, we discovered that the boundaries weren't just supporting the children. They were supporting the adults too.
Putting Theory into Practice
As our team's thinking shifted, so too did the way we spoke about children's behaviour with families. Rather than describing boundary-testing as something that needed to be managed, we began framing it as an important developmental process; one through which children build an understanding of safety, trust, predictability, and relationships.
I believe it’s always helpful to see examples of how we share this valuable learning with our whanau. The following learning story was written for an 18-month-old toddler, who I will call Helen, who was deeply engaged in this work. It captures our evolving understanding that when toddlers test limits, they are not trying to challenge adults; they are trying to understand the world around them.
“Kia ora Helen,
At 18 months old, the world is expanding - and so are the edges. Over the past few weeks, we’ve noticed how deeply interested you are in boundaries. Not just the physical ones - the shelf you reach toward, the gate you test, the couch you try to climb - but the relational ones too. The moments where you pause, look into our eyes, and decide… shall I?
There is something incredibly thoughtful in the way you do this. You move with purpose. A small hand stretches toward something that has been gently named “not for climbing”, or you stand up at the kai table when I’ve just reminded you that I need you to sit down while we eat. You glance back at us. You wait. You take in our response. Sometimes you grin. Sometimes you test anyway. Sometimes you change course entirely.
This is not mischief. This is research, Helen. At 18 months, you are discovering where you end and where the world begins. You are learning:
What happens if I do this?
Will the boundary stay steady?
Am I safe here?
While it can be tempting to want children to feel happy all the time, Helen, we are reminded that authentic wellbeing is not constant happiness; it is the ability to experience the full range of human emotions safely. So even when we respond calmly and consistently, and hold the boundary, you don't necessarily just accept. You might protest or become frustrated, letting us know that you don't like or agree with our decision, or that you would have preferred a different outcome. You show us your feelings, and we stay. We don't see these feelings as a problem to fix. Instead, we stay alongside you as you move through them.
Even if you protest in the moment, your body tells us you feel held. Predictable limits are reassuring. They let you push - because you trust something solid will meet you, something steady enough to hold your big feelings. When the boundary doesn’t wobble, and the relationship doesn’t disappear, you learn that you can express yourself fully here and still be safe, and of course still be loved.
When we respond in this way, children learn that all feelings are acceptable, that limits can coexist with love, and that they are safe even in discomfort. We see these learning moments not as defiance, but as vital developmental work. You are building an inner understanding of safety, trust, and autonomy. You are learning that your ideas matter, and that other people's boundaries matter too. So for now, we stay close, we name the limit, we offer what you can do. For example, "I can see you want to climb, let me show you where you can climb. The couch is for sitting on." or "I can help you with your hat, or you can stay inside if you like."
I think that it is important to note here that this is exactly what toddlers are meant to do, Helen; in fact, it's what they're designed to do - it's their job! At this age, children are wired to test a boundary not once, not twice - but perhaps 4,987 times. Not because they have forgotten. Not because they are defiant. But because they are building certainty. Each repetition asks:
Is this still true?
Is it always true?
Does it change depending on my mood? Your mood? The time of day?
Through repetition, Helen, you are constructing an internal map of the world. You are learning that limits are steady. That adults mean what they say, and that you are safe inside clear, predictable edges. Our role as kaiako is to hold that boundary calmly - all 4,987 times.
We name it. We mean it. We stay steady. And if we’re honest, this is not always easy. There are moments when repetition feels tiring. When the testing comes at the end of a long day, holding firm requires us to dig deep into our own reserves of patience and regulation. But we remind ourselves that this is not personal. This is development unfolding exactly as it should. In the spirit of Emmi Pikler, we understand that respectful, consistent limits are an act of care. They allow you to be bold. To be adventurous. To climb, question, and research, knowing the adults around you are steady and trustworthy. And so we will continue. All 4,987 times if needed. Because this is the work of growing a capable, competent and confident human, Helen, and you are doing it beautifully.”
As infant and toddler educators, it can be easy to experience repeated boundary-testing as something that needs to be managed or stopped. Yet when we view these moments through a developmental lens, we see something very different. We see children seeking certainty. We see them building trust in the adults around them. We see them learning where they end and where others begin.
Our experience this year reminded us that clear, respectful boundaries are not separate from relationship-based practice; they are an essential part of it. When children know the adults around them will respond calmly, consistently, and predictably, they are free to explore, experiment, and grow.
Perhaps the question is not, "How do we stop children testing boundaries?"
Perhaps the question is, "How do we become steady enough to meet them when they do?"
Perhaps becoming steady enough isn't simply about holding boundaries. It is about offering children something even more fundamental: a regulated nervous system to borrow while they build their own. Through thousands of calm, predictable interactions, our steadiness gradually becomes their steadiness.
Helen Lye has been an NZITC Board Member since 2016. She is the Centre Manager at Caterpillar Kids ELC in Mount Albert, Auckland, New Zealand. She completed her RIE® Practicum in 2020.
At the beginning of this year, our infant and toddler team found themselves feeling increasingly overwhelmed. The room felt busy. Kaiako were frustrated, feeling burnt out, as they felt they were spending so much of their day responding to children climbing where they shouldn't, taking resources from one another, and pushing against the social and physical boundaries of the environment.
On the surface, it appeared that the children needed more supervision, perhaps another teacher, so I stepped in to support them. But after spending time alongside the team, observing the rhythms of the day and the interactions unfolding around me, I began to wonder if something else was happening.
The children weren't simply testing limits. They were exploring them.
As infants and toddlers grow, they naturally begin to investigate the edges of their world. They ask questions with their bodies long before they have the words to ask them aloud. What happens if I climb here? What happens if I take this? What happens if I push a little further?
These explorations are a normal and important part of development. Yet when adults are caught in a cycle of reacting to each moment as it arises, the environment can begin to feel unpredictable for both children and kaiako. What became clear was that our team didn't need to become stricter. We needed to become more intentional.
We began focusing on clear, respectful boundaries. Rather than waiting for situations to escalate, kaiako started responding earlier and with greater consistency. Limits were communicated calmly, confidently, and respectfully. We trusted children to understand our messages, and we trusted ourselves to hold those boundaries without anger, negotiation, or repeated warnings.
As the adults became steadier, so did the children. Something remarkable happened. The room became calmer. This wasn't because the children had suddenly become more compliant; it was because they were able to borrow our calm. Infants and toddlers do not yet have fully developed nervous systems capable of regulating big emotions independently. Instead, they rely on the regulated nervous systems of the adults who care for them. When we remain calm, predictable, and emotionally available, children co-regulate with us. Our steady presence helps their bodies return to a place of safety, allowing them to think, learn, and explore. In many ways, the boundary itself becomes less important than how it is held. A calm limit communicates, "You're safe. I've got this."
The children appeared more settled. Kaiako felt more confident. Relationships strengthened. The boundaries were not restricting the children's freedom; they were creating the security that allowed exploration to flourish.
This experience reminded us that freedom and boundaries are not opposites. In infant and toddler settings, they work hand in hand. Children need opportunities to explore, experiment, and take risks. They also need adults who can confidently and respectfully define the limits that keep them safe and connected. When we shifted from reacting to responding, we discovered that the boundaries weren't just supporting the children. They were supporting the adults too.
Putting Theory into Practice
As our team's thinking shifted, so too did the way we spoke about children's behaviour with families. Rather than describing boundary-testing as something that needed to be managed, we began framing it as an important developmental process; one through which children build an understanding of safety, trust, predictability, and relationships.
I believe it’s always helpful to see examples of how we share this valuable learning with our whanau. The following learning story was written for an 18-month-old toddler, who I will call Helen, who was deeply engaged in this work. It captures our evolving understanding that when toddlers test limits, they are not trying to challenge adults; they are trying to understand the world around them.
“Kia ora Helen,
At 18 months old, the world is expanding - and so are the edges. Over the past few weeks, we’ve noticed how deeply interested you are in boundaries. Not just the physical ones - the shelf you reach toward, the gate you test, the couch you try to climb - but the relational ones too. The moments where you pause, look into our eyes, and decide… shall I?
There is something incredibly thoughtful in the way you do this. You move with purpose. A small hand stretches toward something that has been gently named “not for climbing”, or you stand up at the kai table when I’ve just reminded you that I need you to sit down while we eat. You glance back at us. You wait. You take in our response. Sometimes you grin. Sometimes you test anyway. Sometimes you change course entirely.
This is not mischief. This is research, Helen. At 18 months, you are discovering where you end and where the world begins. You are learning:
What happens if I do this?
Will the boundary stay steady?
Am I safe here?
While it can be tempting to want children to feel happy all the time, Helen, we are reminded that authentic wellbeing is not constant happiness; it is the ability to experience the full range of human emotions safely. So even when we respond calmly and consistently, and hold the boundary, you don't necessarily just accept. You might protest or become frustrated, letting us know that you don't like or agree with our decision, or that you would have preferred a different outcome. You show us your feelings, and we stay. We don't see these feelings as a problem to fix. Instead, we stay alongside you as you move through them.
Even if you protest in the moment, your body tells us you feel held. Predictable limits are reassuring. They let you push - because you trust something solid will meet you, something steady enough to hold your big feelings. When the boundary doesn’t wobble, and the relationship doesn’t disappear, you learn that you can express yourself fully here and still be safe, and of course still be loved.
When we respond in this way, children learn that all feelings are acceptable, that limits can coexist with love, and that they are safe even in discomfort. We see these learning moments not as defiance, but as vital developmental work. You are building an inner understanding of safety, trust, and autonomy. You are learning that your ideas matter, and that other people's boundaries matter too. So for now, we stay close, we name the limit, we offer what you can do. For example, "I can see you want to climb, let me show you where you can climb. The couch is for sitting on." or "I can help you with your hat, or you can stay inside if you like."
I think that it is important to note here that this is exactly what toddlers are meant to do, Helen; in fact, it's what they're designed to do - it's their job! At this age, children are wired to test a boundary not once, not twice - but perhaps 4,987 times. Not because they have forgotten. Not because they are defiant. But because they are building certainty. Each repetition asks:
Is this still true?
Is it always true?
Does it change depending on my mood? Your mood? The time of day?
Through repetition, Helen, you are constructing an internal map of the world. You are learning that limits are steady. That adults mean what they say, and that you are safe inside clear, predictable edges. Our role as kaiako is to hold that boundary calmly - all 4,987 times.
We name it. We mean it. We stay steady. And if we’re honest, this is not always easy. There are moments when repetition feels tiring. When the testing comes at the end of a long day, holding firm requires us to dig deep into our own reserves of patience and regulation. But we remind ourselves that this is not personal. This is development unfolding exactly as it should. In the spirit of Emmi Pikler, we understand that respectful, consistent limits are an act of care. They allow you to be bold. To be adventurous. To climb, question, and research, knowing the adults around you are steady and trustworthy. And so we will continue. All 4,987 times if needed. Because this is the work of growing a capable, competent and confident human, Helen, and you are doing it beautifully.”
As infant and toddler educators, it can be easy to experience repeated boundary-testing as something that needs to be managed or stopped. Yet when we view these moments through a developmental lens, we see something very different. We see children seeking certainty. We see them building trust in the adults around them. We see them learning where they end and where others begin.
Our experience this year reminded us that clear, respectful boundaries are not separate from relationship-based practice; they are an essential part of it. When children know the adults around them will respond calmly, consistently, and predictably, they are free to explore, experiment, and grow.
Perhaps the question is not, "How do we stop children testing boundaries?"
Perhaps the question is, "How do we become steady enough to meet them when they do?"
Perhaps becoming steady enough isn't simply about holding boundaries. It is about offering children something even more fundamental: a regulated nervous system to borrow while they build their own. Through thousands of calm, predictable interactions, our steadiness gradually becomes their steadiness.
Helen Lye has been an NZITC Board Member since 2016. She is the Centre Manager at Caterpillar Kids ELC in Mount Albert, Auckland, New Zealand. She completed her RIE® Practicum in 2020.
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