I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Last week, I wrote a piece about many ways parents constantly second-guess themselves. I surely missed a lot of examples, which was inevitable; every parent has different anxieties, and every parent questions themselves in different ways.
But no matter the specific details of your insecurities, it all boils down to asking yourself the same thing: Am I a good parent?
I’m not.
There’s this intersection where I grew up, not far from my parents’ house, which gives me pause every time I drive through it.
Years ago, right after I got my license, I got into a car accident at that intersection. As I was turning left under the light, I somehow missed one car that hadn’t yet cleared the way. I walked away dazed but unscathed, my mother’s beloved Maxima crumpled up behind me.
When I visit my hometown, I inevitably find myself back at the scene of the crime. It’s impossible to go anywhere worthwhile (i.e., the package store, the bar, the restaurant with all the beer) without crossing that intersection. And every time I drive past it, I recall – if not relive – that accident. And I wonder what I could have done differently. Which isn’t entirely healthy.
It reminds me of being a parent.
Read more about Watching the Detective …
I am not setting out to become the pro-vax parenting blogger. For one thing, I try to keep things light around here, for another, there are plenty of bloggers out there doing a better job than me.
Besides, I’ve only written one post about it!
But with the recent Onion article that caused an uproar on my Facebook page, and the measles outbreak at Disney World all over the news, it’s hard not to have an opinion.
So now I’ve made an image too.
Before I became a parent, I didn’t know if I could handle it.
I had never even held a child, let alone changed a diaper, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I had what it takes. Was there a switch that would flip when I saw his face for the first time? Was the ability to care for a child something hard-coded in my biology that would suddenly materialize when my son was born?
Yes and no. I was lucky to love Detective Munch right from the start (though I can totally understand the adjustment period some new parents weather; there’s not much there there at the beginning!), but Morpheus wasn’t around to instantly upload the Parenting program into my skull. I just took it one day at a time – I still do – and slowly but surely adapted to my new role, and my new reality.
There are still plenty of aspects of parenting that I’m insecure about, plenty of situations I have yet to experience, and I have no real idea how I’ll react when confronted with them.
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?