Dear Past Sarah: What I Wish I Knew About The Entire Bear Phase

Dear Sarah from exactly six months ago.

You're currently sitting on the cold, slightly sticky linoleum of the downstairs bathroom, hiding from your own family. It’s, like, 9 AM on a Tuesday, and you're wearing those gray sweatpants with the mysterious bleach stain on the knee. You’re holding a cup of Dave’s leftover black coffee that tastes like literal dirt, and you're actively crying because you just lost your temper and yelled at Leo over a plastic dinosaur.

I know exactly how you feel right now. You feel like the absolute worst mother on the planet. You feel like you’ve ruined your four-year-old forever, and you're terrified that you're failing at this whole parenting thing. Meanwhile, just on the other side of the door, Maya is completely ignoring the chaos, completely glued to the iPad. She rotates between watching hyperactive, flashing episodes of we baby bears—which has a theme song that will bore a hole into your skull—and these bizarre retro YouTube holes. Yesterday she found an hour-long compilation of those old puppet segments baby bear sesame street used to run in the 90s, which, oh god, are actually incredibly creepy when you watch them as an adult.

Anyway, the point is, I'm writing to you from the future to tell you to take a deep breath. Stop catastrophizing every single mistake and just drink the terrible coffee, because everything you're freaking out about right now is just a phase, and we're going to get through it.

Apologies and stuffed animals

So right now, Leo is acting like a feral little animal with huge, terrifying emotions, and you just snapped at him. I need to tell you about this concept I stumbled across on some late-night doom scroll. Or maybe my therapist mentioned it? My brain is complete mush, honestly.

It’s about this idea of the "repair." When we yell—because we're human and we get tired and frankly, plastic dinosaurs stepped on bare feet hurt like hell—the most important thing isn't being perfect. It's the repair afterward. I read about parents using a physical object, like a comfort toy, to bridge the gap. They call it a repair object. So when I finally dragged myself off the bathroom floor, I grabbed this little crocheted bear toy we had in the toy bin and sat next to Leo on the rug.

I didn't try to lecture him. I just held the toy and said, "Mommy had a really big feeling and I yelled, and I'm so sorry." And you know what? He just took the toy, hugged it, and leaned his sticky little forehead against my arm. I think Dr. Evans, our doctor, told me once that kids just need to know that our relationship is stronger than our worst moments. Or something like that. The science is fuzzy in my head, I think it has to do with secure attachments and cortisol levels or whatever, but the point is, saying sorry actually physically helps their brain pathways heal from the stress. So grab a toy and go say sorry instead of sitting in the bathroom mentally beating yourself up.

The weird reptile crawl

While you're sitting there stressing about Leo's emotional regulation, let's talk about my sister. Six months ago, she was having an absolute meltdown about her new baby because of how he was moving.

I went over to her house—she lives in that tiny apartment with the gorgeous but incredibly unforgiving hardwood floors—and she was practically hyperventilating. Her son wasn't doing the cute, normal, hands-and-knees crawl you see in diaper commercials. Instead, he was doing this totally bizarre thing where he stuck his butt high in the air and scurried on his hands and feet. Honestly, he looked less like a human infant and more like a panicked baby bearded dragon scrambling across hot pavement.

She was convinced something was neurologically wrong with him. But I remembered when Maya did the exact same thing years ago. Dr. Evans had literally just laughed when I brought it up in a panic. She said it’s totally normal and actually requires a crazy amount of core strength. Something about bilateral coordination and the left and right sides of the brain talking to each other, I don't really know, I barely passed high school biology. But the doctor basically said that as long as they're moving and not dragging one side of their body in obvious pain, who cares how they get to the Cheerios you dropped under the sofa?

I told my sister to chill out and just put down a decent rug so the kid didn't give himself a concussion on the floorboards.

My honest take on some gear

Speaking of my sister, this whole flashback is reminding me of the stuff I bought for her baby shower, and I just have to get this off my chest because I'm so tired of buying plastic crap that lights up and ruins the vibe of a room.

First of all, I bought her the Bear and Lama Play Gym Set, and I'm violently jealous that I didn't know about this when my kids were tiny. Honestly, it's the best thing I've bought all year. Dave put it together in like five minutes while I was drinking a glass of wine on her couch. The wood is so smooth, and it has these little crocheted characters that hang down. It just looks so peaceful. Her baby absolutely loves staring at the little lama, and I love that it doesn't play a robotic, tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" every time he touches it. It’s just simple, beautiful, and saves her living room from looking like a primary-colored explosion.

If you're currently tired of your house looking like a daycare center, just browse some of these wooden options and save yourself the headache.

I also got her the Organic Cotton Baby Blanket with Polar Bear Print. Listen, it's a nice blanket. It’s very soft and the organic cotton is great for sensitive skin. But honestly, it's just a blanket. It does exactly what it's supposed to do. Just don't let Dave do the laundry, because he once washed ours with a bright red towel and turned the cute little white bears into a muddy, weird pink color. But before that incident, it was perfectly fine and incredibly breathable.

Oh, and the Bear Teething Rattle Wooden Ring Sensory Toy. This was a lifesaver. When kids are teething, they turn into little monsters who just want to chomp on your fingers. The wooden ring on this thing is untreated beechwood, which is hard enough to honestly help their gums but totally safe. Plus, the little crochet character is so sweet. It's just a solid, safe thing to hand them when they're screaming in the car seat and you're desperate for five seconds of silence.

That one hike in Vermont

Okay, wait, I can't write a letter about the "bear phase" without talking about that disastrous family trip we took to Vermont. You know the one. Dave decided we needed to "reconnect with nature" and forced us all onto a hiking trail at 6 AM.

Dave was wearing those ridiculous cargo shorts he refuses to throw away, carrying a Yeti thermos of coffee, and acting like he was an actual park ranger. We were about two miles in, Maya was complaining that her socks were itchy, Leo was demanding snacks, and suddenly Dave froze.

He pointed into the trees and whispered, "Look."

I swear to god, my heart stopped. About fifty yards away, rummaging through some bushes, were two actual, literal baby bears.

Now, Dave, in his infinite wisdom, thought this was a beautiful, majestic moment. He honestly reached for his phone to take a picture. I, on the other hand, immediately experienced a full-body fight-or-flight response. Because anyone who has watched even five minutes of the Discovery Channel knows that if you see cubs, the 400-pound, fiercely protective mother is somewhere very close by, probably sizing up my husband's calves for breakfast.

I didn't scream, because I was too paralyzed with fear. I just grabbed Dave by the back of his stupid fleece vest, grabbed the kids by their jacket hoods, and started speed-walking backward down the trail. I read somewhere—maybe a sign at the trailhead, maybe a random Facebook post—that you aren't supposed to run. You just calmly back away. We backed away so fast I practically tripped over a tree root and snapped my ankle.

We spent the rest of the vacation at the hotel pool. I'm never letting Dave plan a nature hike again. Nature is terrifying.

Just breathe

So, Past Sarah, sitting on the bathroom floor. Please just give yourself some grace. You're going to mess up. You're going to yell, you're going to panic over weird crawling styles, you're going to buy the wrong toys sometimes, and you're going to almost get eaten in Vermont.

It’s all part of it. The kids are resilient. The apologies work. The phases pass. Drink your cold coffee, wash your face, and go back out there. You've got this.

Before you go down another 3 AM internet rabbit hole worrying about developmental milestones or organic materials, just check out Kianao's full line of thoughtful, sustainable gear and get some actual sleep.

Questions I furiously googled at 3 AM

Is it normal for my kid to crawl on their hands and feet?
Yes, oh my god, yes. It looks totally insane and slightly creepy, but Dr. Evans told me it's completely fine. They build crazy strong core muscles doing it. As long as they're getting around and aren't obviously favoring one side of their body because of pain, let them scurry like the little weirdos they're.

How do I fix things after I lose my temper and yell?
You just apologize. It really is that simple, even though it feels incredibly hard in the moment. I sit down on their level, usually holding a little stuffed animal as a peace offering, and just say "Mommy was feeling overwhelmed and I shouldn't have yelled." It teaches them that we all mess up and that making mistakes doesn't mean we stop loving each other.

Are wooden teething rings genuinely safe?
I was super paranoid about this, but yes, as long as you buy from a brand that doesn't use chemical finishes. The Kianao one we've is untreated beechwood, which is naturally smooth and doesn't splinter. It’s way better than letting them chew on whatever random plastic remote control they found under the couch.

What do I really do if I see a bear cub in the woods?
You leave. Immediately. Don't take out your phone, don't try to make a TikTok, don't let your husband tell you "it's fine." Don't run, because that triggers their chase instinct, but back away slowly and calmly while talking in a low voice. Then go to a diner and eat pancakes instead of hiking.