Today I cried, I cried because the overwhelming pressure that is motherhood had been piling up for so long that at an unforeseen moment in the middle of an otherwise perfectly pleasant afternoon, I broke down.
I broke down because the Hundreds of articles telling me that literally no matter what type of parenting I practice I am wrong and my child will be forever damaged. I cried because the mom I have to be isn't the friend I want to be. I cried because no matter where I turn or who I talk to, I can always find some way that my parenting falls short compared to theirs, even if its just in one department. I cried because the pressure to do everything and be everything all at once is just too freaking much. But mostly I cried because I love my babies so intensely that not only is failure not an option, but falling short of anything other than over perfection is completely out of the question.
And I am no different from any other mom on the planet. When I got pregnant I read about 50 thousand articles on which types of parenting caused what types of children. I took as many classes in child development as my psychology major would allow, and I had multiple sit down conversations with my husband on what we would and would not do. I picked my path, just like every other mom. I chose the path that I believed would lead to the healthiest, happiest child and I intended to stick with it.
I wanted my relationship with my child to be based on trust and respect, I wanted them to always know that I was in their corner. I wanted to give them nothing but positive reinforcement and talk them through every single emotion they ever experienced. I didn't want to spoil them but I wanted them to have everything they ever needed and I wanted them to learn how to interact with the world by following my example instead of using discipline.
For a while it all went great, our bond was clearly formed. It was my baby and me ready to take on the world. My little man was my partner in crime and I knew I was the mom I had set out to be. But as he grew my theories were tested, I would explain to him why we don't grab toys from other kids and how it makes our friends feel good when we share, then watch as he stole a toy right out of his buddies hand. I would grab him seconds before he ran into the street after he ran away from me and talk to him about how dangerous it is and why, and he would wiggle out of my arms and dart right back into the road. I would fill his plate with veggies after taking all the advice about letting them play with it, and help prepare it, and watch as the threw his plate across the room and I felt defeated.
I realized that if I continued to only be his friend I would be doing him a major injustice. Sure in the short term he would be my happy little boy, playing in the street with his buddies monster truck while snacking on goldfish. But where would that get him in the long run? I had to be his mom. I had to learn to tell him no. Since I had tried everything from talking, to only reinforcing positive behaviors, to ignoring the problem completely, and nothing was working I had to break my first rule and put him in “quiet time” when he wouldn't stop running into the road. I had to watch his little heart break as I we left the park early because he refused to share with other kids, and I had to simply let him cry when I refused to give him goldfish for dinner. I became the meanest mom ever and I could feel it. The relationship we once had that was centered around my catering to his every need had shifted into teaching him how to the person I know his little heart longs to be. While our days are still centered around kid related activities, our interactions, more often than not are that of correction, shaping, and reinforcing than just playing and being the friends that every article I read told me to be, and it kills me.
While I know in my heart that my love for my babies is all encompassing, and that my actions stem from the deeply rooted need to do what I believe is best by them. The guilt that I hold over the fear that I am screwing this whole thing up every time I tell him no is overwhelming. The fear that my frustration when he doesn't listen is too evident and will make him feel unloved even just for a second. The concern over the fact that in reality, I have no idea what I am doing. And the constant mommy wars adding to the guilt, fear and concern because other moms chose different paths than each other. Its enough to sink a ship.
If I were one of my friends talking to me I would tell myself how much I love my babies, and that they know it. I would tell myself that I wasn't born a mom I was born a human and every day that I do my best is more than enough. I would remind myself that kids don't come with instructions and that no one style of parenting is correct because kids do not come out of a text book. I would tell myself to put the books down, stop reading the articles and to ignore any mommas to think their way is the only way of raising babies.
Unfortunately I am much better at giving advice than taking it, so I will just tell you, incase you need to hear it. We all have our guilt, we are all swaying from who we originally thought we would be as moms. We are all just trying to raise our babies the best way we know how, and just because you read a thousand articles when you were pregnant and decided that was the parent you were going to be, does not mean that the parent you became after you met the little person you were meant to raise isn't exactly who your baby needs.
I am going to give myself grace during this transition from friend to mom. I am going to remember that I love my children so much that I am willing to be the bad guy so that they may become happy adults. I am going to let myself be human and a mom. I am going to do my best to remind myself that just because “Ashleys” parenting is fantastic for her children, it may not be what's best for mine and I don't need to feel inadequate for not mimicking it.
I am going to try to be done with the articles, the forums, the guilt… I'm just going to be a mom doing the best I can to raise two happy little humans. So if you see me in the park with one kid on my hip and the other kid in quiet time up against a fence, please take your shaming eyes off of me. We place enough shame and guilt on ourselves as mothers, we don't need yours. My best looks different than your best and I think I can speak for all of us when I say we really need that to be ok.
