Who Are The Baby Monster Members? (From K-Pop To Toddler Tantrums)

Yesterday at a Sunday pub roast, over a sticky table covered in mashed peas, I casually mentioned we were dealing with a massive "baby monster" situation at home. I received three entirely contradictory pieces of advice in the span of forty seconds.

My mum immediately nodded in deep sympathy, launching into a story about how my older brother used to throw himself against the living room radiator when denied a secondary digestive biscuit, suggesting I simply ignore them until they pass out. My very online, twenty-something sister-in-law leaned in and asked if I was referencing the existential dread of raising children in late-stage capitalism. And my fourteen-year-old niece nearly choked on her sparkling water, demanding to know my absolute favourite track from their new EP and asking if I had a preferred idol in the group.

I was, of course, talking about my twin two-year-old daughters, who have recently discovered the sheer, intoxicating power of screaming at the top of their lungs because the sky is blue. But my niece's reaction sent me down a rather bizarre internet rabbit hole that somehow connected South Korean pop royalty with the feral creatures currently dismantling my sofa cushions.

Wait, who are these pop stars anyway?

If you've a teenager, a tween, or just an internet connection, you've likely encountered the absolute juggernaut that's modern K-pop. When my niece started enthusiastically listing the members of that wildly famous baby monster group, I felt my spine age three decades. She was casually dropping names and birth years that made me want to go lie down in a dark room.

One of the girls in this group was born in 2009. Two thousand and nine. I was already working a miserable desk job, complaining about my lower back, and paying rent while this globally famous pop star was literally being born. The sheer discipline these kids have is terrifying. They undergo years of intense vocal and dance training, living in dormitories and adhering to schedules that would make an investment banker weep. Meanwhile, I spent twenty minutes this morning trying to convince Twin A that putting her arm through a sleeve is not a violation of her human rights.

It’s surreal to watch my niece idolise these incredibly young performers. She feels like she knows them personally, which I suppose is the entire point of the industry. It’s a parasocial relationship on steroids, fueled by endless behind-the-scenes TikToks and livestreamed rehearsals. We had a rather stilted conversation about the reality of fame at that age, mostly because I kept getting distracted by Twin B attempting to eat a fistful of dog hair off the rug.

The terrifying reality of a digital footprint

The whole pop star conversation actually triggered a mild panic attack about internet privacy. A lot of the controversy surrounding these young celebrities involves their parents, who apparently posted endless photos and videos of them online when they were literal infants. It’s a stark reminder of the digital world we’re forcing our kids into without their consent.

During one of our early check-ups, our health visitor casually mentioned that the average child today has a digital footprint consisting of thousands of images before they even step foot in a primary school. I think I dissociated for a good three minutes after hearing that. My wife and I immediately instituted a strict "no faces on public social media" rule. We occasionally post a photo of the back of their heads, or a shot where their features are entirely obscured by a massive smear of avocado, but that’s it.

The thought of my daughters growing up and finding a highly searchable archive of their most embarrassing, vulnerable moments makes me feel slightly ill. I can barely handle the memory of my own awkward teenage years, and those are safely locked away in a physical photo album at my parents' house, guarded by decades of dust. Giving the entire internet access to your child's toddler years feels like handing a megaphone to a bully.

Back to the literal, screaming terrors in my living room

While the teenage pop idols are busy breaking streaming records, the baby m variations in my own house are busy breaking my spirit. The tantrums of a two-year-old twin are not just behavioral incidents; they're seismic events that alter the atmospheric pressure of the room.

You can't reason with them. I've tried. Yesterday, Twin A requested the blue plastic cup. I washed the blue plastic cup, filled it with water, and handed it to her. She looked at it as if I had handed her a live grenade, threw herself onto the kitchen tiles, and began to wail with the intensity of a Victorian widow. Why? Because the water inside the blue cup wasn't also blue. I spent ten minutes explaining the basic physics of liquid transparency to a child who was aggressively trying to bite her own knee.

And because twins share some sort of chaotic hive mind, Twin B saw her sister screaming on the floor and decided, out of pure solidarity, to join in. She didn't even know what we were protesting. She just dropped her toast, lay down next to her sister, and began to shriek. It's a level of absurd, asymmetric warfare that no parenting book adequately prepares you for.

Page 47 of a very expensive "gentle parenting" manual I bought at 3am suggested that I should lower my voice to a whisper and acknowledge their big feelings. I tried this. I crouched down, took a deep breath, and whispered, "I see that you're frustrated about the water." Twin A paused, looked me dead in the eye, and slapped me across the cheek with a damp piece of cucumber. So much for peaceful resolution.

The biology of a meltdown (as far as I understand it)

I brought this up with our GP when we were in for a routine check, hoping she would prescribe me a sedative (for myself, obviously). She drew a very crude diagram on a Post-it note that looked vaguely like a bruised potato, explaining that a toddler's prefrontal cortex is basically under heavy construction.

From what I gathered through the haze of sleep deprivation, they literally don't have the neurological wiring to stop a feeling once it starts. An emotion hits them—like the devastating realization that the cat doesn't want to be carried like a briefcase—and their brain just floods with panic. They aren't trying to manipulate us; they're just experiencing the absolute worst day of their lives, every single day, over minor inconveniences.

I find this neurological excuse somewhat comforting, though it's incredibly hard to remember when you're standing in the middle of a supermarket aisle while your child screams because you wouldn't let them lick the conveyor belt.

Coping mechanisms and the gear that actually survives the chaos

When the teething overlaps with the tantrum phase, you enter a special circle of hell previously undocumented by Dante. The drool is biblical. The biting is relentless. Our girls essentially turn into feral badgers, gnawing on coffee table legs, my shoes, and occasionally each other.

We bought the Plush Monster Rattle Teething Toy entirely because the irony of the monster theme appealed to my fragile mental state at the time. To my absolute shock, it’s brilliant. The organic cotton actually absorbs the frankly alarming amount of drool they produce, rather than letting it pool on their chins and cause that horrific red rash. The wooden ring makes a very satisfying clunking noise when they violently shake it, which distracts them just long enough to forget why they were crying in the first place. I honestly wish I had bought four of them so I wouldn't have to keep digging it out from under the sofa.

On the other hand, the Gentle Baby Building Block Set we picked up gets a more mixed review from me. They're technically lovely. They're soft rubber, which means when one twin inevitably hurls a block at the other's head during a territorial dispute, we don't have to rush to A&E. But the colours are described as "macaron," which in practical terms means they blend perfectly into our beige living room rug. I've stepped on the number 4 block more times than I care to admit, usually while carrying a hot cup of tea. They're great for the kids to chew on, but a distinct hazard for my arches.

And because these meltdowns involve so much physical exertion—arching backs, kicking legs, dramatic floor-swimming—they sweat a ridiculous amount. We started putting them in the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Sleeveless Infant Onesie just to keep them from overheating during their daily protests. The stretch on these things is incredible, which is vital when you're trying to wrestle an angry toddler into clothes. Plus, it washes well, which is necessary when they rage-spit half-chewed strawberries down their fronts.

If you're currently hiding in the downstairs loo seeking refuge from your own tiny dictators, maybe take a deep breath and quietly browse through Kianao's teething toys collection for a minute of peace before re-entering the war zone.

Survival over perfection

I spend hours scrolling through perfectly curated Instagram feeds showing mothers in linen trousers calmly redirecting their toddlers' energy with wooden Montessori puzzles. It makes me want to throw my phone into the Thames.

The reality of this phase is messy, loud, and frequently covered in bodily fluids. You don't manage it; you just endure it until they fall asleep, at which point you look at photos of them on your phone and whisper about how beautiful they're. It’s a deep psychological sickness that all parents share.

As for the advice to just put them in a safe space and walk into another room until they calm down? We tried it once. I left them in their child-proofed bedroom, closed the door, and stood in the hallway counting to ten. When I went back in, they had somehow managed to peel a strip of wallpaper off near the skirting board and were attempting to eat the plaster. Never again.

Need to gear up for the next inevitable meltdown? Pick up some soothing organic teething accessories before the terrible twos truly destroy whatever is left of your sanity.

A few exhausted answers to your questions

At what age does the screaming phase finally stop?
According to my GP, the worst of the emotional regulation issues tend to smooth out around age three or four. According to my dad, who likes to call me during the kids' bedtime routine just to laugh, it never stops; it just changes volume and vocabulary. I'm choosing to believe the medical professional, purely for my own survival.

Are the K-pop idols really children?
Some of them are terrifyingly close to it, yes. The youngest members of these massive pop groups frequently debut at 14 or 15 years old. It makes me profoundly uncomfortable to watch, mostly because at 14, my biggest achievement was successfully microwaving a potato. The sheer pressure they're under is baffling.

Should I be worried about my teen's parasocial relationships with celebrities?
I'm definitely not a psychologist, but from what I’ve observed with my niece, it’s mostly just modern fandom. As long as they aren't completely retreating from real life or spending your mortgage money on concert merchandise, it seems to be how kids connect these days. Just maybe keep an eye on how much screen time is dedicated to scrolling idol updates at 2am.

How do you get strawberry stains out of organic cotton?
With great difficulty and a lot of swearing. I usually rinse it in freezing cold water immediately, scrub it with a bit of dish soap, and then leave it in the sun to bleach out the rest of the redness. Don't use hot water; it bakes the fruit sugar right into the fibres, and your kid will permanently look like a tiny butcher.

Are silicone teethers genuinely better than wooden ones?
It completely depends on the day and the mood of the child holding it. Silicone is brilliant because you can chuck it in the fridge to get it cold, which numbs their gums when the really nasty molars are pushing through. Wooden ones are great for general gnawing, but they hurt significantly more when a toddler throws one directly at your kneecap.