In my last post, I talked about why new parents with infants keep coming back to Naru. Today, I want to talk about the next chapter — the toddler years.
Specifically, the terrible twos. The three-nager era. That glorious, exhausting, "why is my child like this" season of parenthood.
If you're in it right now — I see you. Naru was very much built with you in mind.
A few weeks ago, the three of us went to Naru — me, my husband, and Jordan.
We do this almost every week, usually on a weekday. It's become a family ritual of sorts. Jordan loves it there, and honestly, it's one of the rare outings where my husband and I can actually sit across from each other and have something close to a real conversation.
That day, Jordan had a full meltdown.
We still don't know what triggered it. That's the thing with meltdowns — there's no warning light, no three-second countdown, no obvious reason you can point to afterward. One moment everything is fine, and the next your child is in the middle of it and the whole room knows.
We've stopped trying to figure out the why. At this age, it just happens. Anytime, anywhere. No signals.
What I noticed — what actually stayed with me — was what didn't happen.
Nobody looked up with that face. You know the one. The slow, polite, very pointed look that says "can you please manage your child."
The kids kept playing. A few of them wandered over for a second, the way kids do when something interesting is happening nearby, and then drifted back. The other parents just… carried on. Not in a cold, ignoring-you way. In a we've all been there, take your time kind of way.
Here's the part I find a little funny to say out loud: nobody there knew I own Naru.
I'm not behind the counter. I don't greet families at the door. When I'm there with my husband and Jordan, I'm just one of the mums — same as everyone else in that room. And honestly? That's exactly how I wanted it. When I'm there as a parent, I want to feel what the parents feel.
That day, what I felt was relief.
Not because the meltdown wasn't exhausting — it was. But because the room didn't make it worse. There was no performance, no mental calculation of which table was furthest from everyone, no apologetic look I had to give the strangers around us.
We just got to be a family having a hard five minutes, in a room full of people who understood exactly what that looks like.
I think we underestimate how much that matters.
It sounds small on paper. Oh, a judgment-free space. But when you've spent months feeling like you have to apologise for your kid's existence every time you leave the house, it doesn't feel small at all.
It feels like the whole point.
Ru
Co-founder, Naru Play Café
Come find us in Bukit Jalil. Toddler chaos warmly, genuinely, wholeheartedly welcomed. 💚