I hate judgment, especially when it comes to parenting.

It’s presumptuous and self-righteous and, worst of all, it only serves to obscure – if not outright obliterate – the empathy that should be both the prevalent emotion and the primary response to seeing another parent struggling. We all live in the same huge glass house, surrounded by miniature, walking, talking, wrecking balls, and we’re all barefoot and bloodied, like John McClane.

Being given a hard time when your kid isn’t behaving is the last thing a parent needs.

It’s difficult enough being responsible for the safety and development of a brand new, slowly-developing, borderline-feral human being without someone explaining to you everything you’re doing wrong.

It’s never right to judge. So why do I want you to judge me?

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