I'm not the kind of parent I thought I'd be

Alas, it’s true. I’m nothing like the parent I thought I’d be. Not even close. Not one single version of the parent I thought I’d be at any stage of my life.

Not even the version I’d like to be now.

Before I had kids I thought I’d be one of those crazy-strict parents. My kids would be picture-perfect. They’d sleep in their own bed from day one, they’d cry it out, they’d never throw a tantrum because they’d fear being spanked too much to do so. Crazy. Twisted. Extremely sad. But they say it’s hard to break from our parents, and I totally get that. Well, sort of. But honestly, I didn’t even know there was any other kind of parenting. Other than those freaks who let their kids run amuck, but that’s not really parenting, is it?

Then I got pregnant. The idea of ever yelling at my child or allowing her to cry – for any reason – made me want to hyperventilate. I couldn’t picture myself as any type of parent that could ever cause my child distress in any way, regardless of her behavior. The idea of hitting her repulsed me.

And when I had my sweet, first child, I thought that was how things would stay. I would never be cross with her, I’d never put her in time-out. I’d never be that “strict” parent my child feared.

I read a lot. I mean, a ton a lot. It was a good thing. It was a bad thing. A horrible, terrible, awful thing.

Pretty much any time I punish or bribe my children I feel like I’ve failed. Because maybe by participating in punitive parenting, I’m totally screwing them up. But then when I let them lay under the table at the restaurant, not bothering a soul, content and quiet, I feel like it’s wrong too because shouldn’t I be forcing them to sit up at the table and be perfect, quiet little people?

Blah.

We are in an information-overload world these days. There is so much stuff out there it’s overwhelming. And all of it is “scientifically backed up.” Whatever that means. I’m not a scientist.

But I am a momma.

And when I stop reading all this garbage or listening to unsolicited advice (the solicited advice is very welcomed!!!), I do a much better job. And I’m all around happier. And so are my kids.

So maybe I will bribe my 2.5 year old into the car seat and let her lay quietly under the table at a restaurant, and even threaten her with counting when the “need” arises “1…2…don’t make me get to 3…” (We’ve never gotten to 3, I don’t know what the heck happens if I get there…). We’ll use our “mad jar”, which is full of glitter and H has to play with on the steps while mommy has a break so she doesn’t lose her shit completely inappropriately. I will let a lot of things go because I don’t want a battle, but I will still force her say “please” and “thank you” even if that Blossom chick says I should just model it for her, never force it otherwise it isn’t authentic. Well, I’ve got news for you, Blossom, a lot of the time I don’t say “please” or “thank you” because it’s authentic to me, I say it for the person I’m saying it to. Because it’s polite. Because I have manners, even when I’m annoyed with the world. It’s the same reason I don’t punch stupid people in the face. I know better.

I’m certainly not the kind of parent I thought I’d be. Or even the kind of parent I want to be. I mean, honestly, I wish I could be a 100% non-punitive parent. But I just don’t know how to make that happen or work. I’ve tried to wrap my brain around it because I love the idea…just the reality of it doesn’t seem feasible no matter how much I read or try to believe it.

But that’s okay. Because regardless of it all, I know I’m a really kick-ass parent. And I feel confident about that. Every day. Even if I make mistakes. (And I make plenty of them, ask my daughter…ask her how many times momma has had to go back and say, “Whoa, I’m really sorry for…”). 

I’m a great mom, even if it’s not the mom I always want to be. Even if it’s not the mom I thought I’d be.

And in case no one has told you today, you’re a really fantastic parent, too! (Or you will be some day).