Man, raising kids is a wild ride, isn’t it? Every kid’s different, that’s for sure. But when my youngest, let’s call him Leo for now, started showing his true colors, I knew I had a special kind of challenge on my hands. He’s a Virgo, born right smack in the middle of the season, and boy, did he live up to the rep.
I remember when he was just a little guy, maybe three or four. He wasn’t your typical messy toddler. He’d actually try to line up his toy cars perfectly. Like, if one was a little off, he’d stop playing and fix it. I just thought, “Huh, that’s neat.” Didn’t think much of it then.
But as he grew, these little quirks started to stack up. I started seeing this intense need for order. If we were building LEGOs, he wasn’t about the grand, crazy structure. He was about following the instructions to the letter. If a piece went missing, forget it. Meltdown city. I’d try to explain, “Hey, it’s okay, we can just build something else!” But nope. It had to be right. It had to be perfect.
Seeing the Patterns Emerge
I started digging around a bit, not in any serious, academic way, just talking to other parents, observing. I’d notice how he’d approach tasks. If I gave him a chore, like setting the table, he wouldn’t just plop the plates down. He’d measure the distance between them, make sure the forks were aligned with the knives. It was painstaking, honestly. And slow. Super slow.
My first instinct was to rush him. “Come on, Leo, just put the plates down!” I’d say. But that just made things worse. He’d get flustered, sometimes even tear up. He wasn’t trying to be difficult; he was just trying to do it right. That was a big lightbulb moment for me. It wasn’t about defiance; it was about his inner drive for precision.
I also picked up on his super analytical brain. He’d ask a million questions, not just “why,” but “how does that work?” and “what if this happens?” He’d dissect everything. A simple trip to the grocery store would turn into a full-blown interrogation about where the apples came from, how they got to the store, and why these apples looked better than those apples. It was exhausting sometimes, but also kinda cool how deeply he thought about things.
Learning to Lean In, Not Push Back
So, I started changing my approach. Instead of fighting his need for order, I tried to work with it.
- Embracing the Detail: When he was cleaning his room, instead of just telling him to “clean up,” I’d break it down. “First, put your books on the shelf. Then, put your dirty clothes in the hamper.” He thrived on that structure. He wanted to know the steps.
- Handling the Perfectionism: This was tougher. He’d get frustrated so easily if something wasn’t perfect. I started emphasizing the effort over the outcome. “Wow, you really tried hard on that drawing!” instead of “That drawing is perfect!” I’d show him my own imperfections, too. “Look, I messed up on this recipe, but it still tastes good!” Trying to make it okay to not be flawless.
- Nurturing the Analytic Side: Instead of getting annoyed by the questions, I started trying to answer them, or even better, explore them together. We’d look things up, run little experiments. It turned his “why” into a shared learning experience.
- Understanding the Worry: Oh, the worry. He’d worry about everything. If we had a trip planned, he’d worry about packing, about the weather, about getting lost. I realized he needed reassurance, not just a casual “it’ll be fine.” I’d sit down, talk through the plan, list out the contingencies. Having a plan, any plan, seemed to ease his mind.
There was this one time we were baking cookies. He was meticulously measuring everything. I was just throwing stuff in, trying to be quick. He got so upset when I didn’t level off the flour exactly right. He said, “Mom, it’s going to ruin the cookies!” I laughed, thinking it was sweet, but then I saw how genuinely distressed he was. I stopped, apologized, and let him re-measure it. The cookies turned out fine, of course, but that moment taught me a lot about respecting his process, even if it seemed over-the-top to me.
I also learned that he’s incredibly helpful. Not in a showy way, but quietly, behind the scenes. If he saw me struggling with groceries, he’d just start unloading, organizing them as he went. He wanted to be useful, to contribute. It was his way of showing he cared, by being practical and helpful.
The Ongoing Journey of Understanding
It’s still a daily process, honestly. He’s getting older now, and the Virgo traits are still there, just more mature. The need for order translates into a very organized desk for school. The analytical mind helps him excel in subjects that require precision. The perfectionism can still surface in frustration, but he’s learning to manage it better, and so am I. I’ve learned to just stand back sometimes, let him figure it out in his own meticulous way. It might take longer, but the outcome is usually well-thought-out and thorough.
My biggest takeaway from raising my Virgo kid is that you can’t force a square peg into a round hole. You gotta observe, understand, and then figure out how to best support their natural inclinations. It’s about meeting them where they are, not trying to change who they fundamentally are. And honestly, I wouldn’t have him any other way.
