Dealing With The Baby Dino Phase

It was a Tuesday at like, 7:14 AM. I was standing in the kitchen wearing my black leggings that have a mystery yogurt stain on the left knee, holding a mug of coffee that had already gone lukewarm because I'd had to set it down three times to prevent a toddler-related disaster. Leo, who was three at the time and completely naked except for one mismatched green sock, was standing on the dining room chair. He threw his head back and let out a blood-curdling, screeching roar that rattled the windows.

My mother-in-law, who was visiting and actively judging my kitchen counters, sighed loudly and said, "He's acting out because he lacks boundaries, you really need to make him sit in a time-out."

Later that day, my extremely crunchy neighbor who makes her own deodorant caught us outside while Leo was screeching at a squirrel. She leaned over the fence and whispered, "He's overstimulated by modern life, you should take away all his plastic toys and only give him smooth river rocks to play with."

And then Dave, my husband, walked in from work, saw Leo crawling on the floor biting the legs of the sofa, and went, "Oh cool, he's a baby dino. I'm gonna order him one of those $200 animatronic masks from the movie."

I was so tired. Like, bone-tired. I just wanted to drink my coffee and maybe go to the bathroom alone, but instead I was living with a tiny prehistoric predator who refused to eat anything that wasn't leaf-shaped.

Anyway. The point is, if you're currently living through the baby dinosaur phase, I see you. I've been in the trenches. And everybody is going to give you terrible, conflicting advice about how to handle it.

What my doctor actually said about the roaring

So obviously I took him to his 3-year checkup feeling like an absolute failure of a mother because my kid wouldn't answer to his name anymore. We literally had to call him baby d just to get him to look at us. Not Leo. Baby d. It was humiliating, especially in public.

I sat there in the little sterile room, trying to wipe a smear of unidentified sticky stuff off my jeans, and confessed to Dr. Aris that my son was basically feral. I expected her to hand me a referral to a behavioral specialist or tell me I ruined him by letting him watch too much TV when I had a migraine.

Instead, she laughed. She said it's like, this totally normal cognitive boom. I guess a huge percentage of kids go through this intense obsession phase, usually with dinosaurs or trains. I'm probably butchering the actual science here, but from what I understood, it has something to do with their brains wiring themselves for deep focus and executive function? She said that when they memorize which dinosaur eats meat and which one eats plants, they're building crazy strong neural pathways. They get to be the "expert" at something, which makes them feel huge and powerful in a world where they're usually tiny and helpless.

So the roaring isn't him being a sociopath. It's just him figuring out how to learn. Which made me feel marginally better when he bit my ankle later that afternoon.

The absolute nightmare of finding a baby dinosaur costume

Let's talk about the costume industrial complex for a second, because oh my god.

Once you accept that your kid is a baby dino, you naturally want to get them the gear. But navigating the Halloween aisle or late-night Amazon scrolling is a literal hellscape. Have you touched those commercial costumes? They're made of the scratchiest, most flammable-feeling polyester on earth.

Here's a list of things that happen when you put a toddler in a cheap synthetic baby dinosaur costume:

They immediately start sweating buckets because the fabric has zero breathability.
They get a mysterious red rash on their neck from the velcro closure that was sewn on by a machine that hates children.
The big stuffed tail knocks over every single cup of water you've ever set on a low table.
They refuse to take it off for bedtime, meaning you're trying to wrestle a screaming, sweaty, velcro-covered lizard at 8 PM.

It's awful. I spent fifty bucks on a plush Triceratops suit for Leo and he wore it for exactly four minutes before screaming that it was "too itchy" and then he threw it in the dog's water bowl.

If you want to save your sanity, just put them in normal, breathable clothes and stick some felt spikes on the back, instead of trapping them in sweaty synthetic fabrics that make everyone miserable.

Dinosaur light-up sneakers are a hard no, though.

If you're looking for sustainable, organic stuff that won't make your kid break out in hives while they pretend to be a raptor, you should probably explore Kianao's organic baby clothes because it's so much easier than fighting the polyester battle.

Stuff we bought that didn't immediately end up in the trash

Because I'm a sucker, I definitely bought a bunch of dinosaur-themed crap during this phase. Most of it broke, or the dog ate it, or it was so annoying I mysteriously "lost" it behind the washing machine.

But there are a couple of things that actually survived our house.

First of all, my absolute holy grail item: the Colorful Dinosaur Bamboo Baby Blanket. Listen, I don't usually get emotional about blankets, but this thing was a lifesaver. It's made of bamboo and organic cotton, so it's wildly soft. Leo dragged this blanket literally everywhere. He used it as a cape to be a pterodactyl. He built forts out of it. We took it to the park and it got dragged through mud, spilled juice, and God knows what else, and it just washed right out and got softer. It's breathable, which is great because toddlers run inexplicably hot, and the print isn't that obnoxious neon cartoon style. It's actually kind of tasteful? Which is rare for dino stuff. I highly suggest it if you need something to transition them away from wearing a full sweaty costume 24/7.

Then there's the outfit hack. After the polyester costume disaster, I realized I could just buy a really high-quality green base layer and call it his "dino skin." I bought the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit from Kianao. It's 95% organic cotton, undyed, super stretchy. I just safety-pinned some soft fabric spikes to the back of it. Boom. Instant baby dinosaur costume that didn't make him sweat or give him a rash. And when he wasn't pretending to be a stegosaurus, it was just a really nice, soft onesie that held up to a million washes without stretching out in the neck like those cheap multi-pack ones do.

I also bought the Dinosaur Baby Teether when Maya was teething, mostly because Leo insisted his sister needed to be a dinosaur too. It's... fine. I mean, it's a silicone teether. It's cute, the textures on the little dino spikes are apparently very satisfying for swollen gums, and it's super easy to clean in the dishwasher. But I'm not going to sit here and tell you it changed my life. It did its job. Maya gnawed on it furiously for about a month, and then she threw it at the dog. So, you know. It's a solid teether if you need one, just don't expect it to magically make your baby sleep through the night.

Riding it out

The thing about the baby dino phase is that it feels like it's going to last forever. You get so tired of correcting people at the grocery store who say "Oh, what a cute little boy!" and having your kid scream "I AM A T-REX!" back at them.

But then, one day, you wake up, and they don't want to be a dinosaur anymore.

Dave came home last week with a new book about fossils, fully ready to geek out with Leo. And Leo just looked at him, completely deadpan, and said, "Dad, I don't like dinosaurs. I'm a construction worker now."

I almost cried. I missed the roaring. I missed baby d.

Parenting is so weird. You spend six months trying to get them to stop doing something, and the second they stop, you're mourning the loss of it. So if your kid is currently crawling around the living room biting the furniture and refusing to wear pants, just take a deep breath. Drink your lukewarm coffee. Buy the good blanket. It's all going to be fine.

Before you completely lose your mind and buy a giant plastic T-Rex that will just take up half your living room, maybe check out Kianao's collection of organic baby blankets and softer gear that will honestly last through the phase.

Random things you might be wondering (because I sure was)

Is it normal for my toddler to only respond to dinosaur names?
According to my doctor and literally every mom friend I texted in a panic, yes. It's a super common developmental phase where they're exploring identity and control. Just roll with it. Call them Mr. T-Rex if it gets them to put their shoes on, honestly. Whatever works.

Are cheap polyester costumes really that bad for everyday play?
I mean, your kid isn't going to spontaneously combust, but yeah, they kind of suck. Toddler skin is super thin and sensitive, and synthetic fabrics trap heat and moisture. If they're sweating in it all day, they're going to get heat rashes or eczema flare-ups. That's why I gave up and just used organic cotton bodysuits as the base for all his dress-up stuff.

How do I get my kid to stop roaring at strangers?
Oh god, if you figure this out, please email me. What we ended up doing was creating "indoor dinosaur rules." We told Leo that T-Rexes have very quiet voices when they're inside the grocery store so they don't scare away their prey (the snacks). It worked like 60% of the time. The other 40% I just smiled apologetically at the cashier and ran.

When will they outgrow the dinosaur obsession?
Usually around age 5 or 6, when they go to school and suddenly become obsessed with whatever the other kids are playing with (in our case, it shifted to heavy machinery and trucks literally overnight). Don't rush it. It's honestly a really sweet phase once you stop stressing about it.