Imperfect Parenting

As if There's Any Other Way ...

Simpsons_addams.gif

Last  weekend, our housemate of two years moved out. She lived in our front room, and  was a happy, bubbly addition to the house. She often commented on what "super  parents" we were, and how she envied our perfect little family. I would protest  "If you only heard the arguments!", which she said she never did.

Truth be  told, I found myself always being a bit more careful when she was in the house.  Curbing my tongue, lowering my angry voice when I lost my temper, and trying to  live up to her unrealistic praise. Thankfully, her very last day in the house,  she heard me yell at my son for something. I'm not glad I yelled, but for the  reality check. She heard me being an imperfect parent, a real one.

There are  no perfect parents. No perfect way of raising kids. No one right way to  feed, clothe, discipline, sleep train, or teach them. But we sometimes act like  there is. I never appreciated my mother's wisdom more than when I asked her when  she started disciplining me. I was struggling with how to deal with a feisty  2-year-old, and wanted an easy answer. She gracefully declined to directly  answer the question, wanting me to figure out, on my own, what was best for me  and my child.

Don't get me  wrong, there's tremendous value to be had from the experiences of other parents.  Learning from each others' successes, mistakes, and insights. Sometimes we  imitate, and sometimes declare "I would never do that!" But we learn. We read  books, swap stories, commiserate, and kibitz. But in the end, it's our own  choices that matter.

I'm an avid  mom-blog reader, and never cease to be amazed by the firestorm of comments when  a mom dares to admit how she chooses to raise her kids. "She's still in  diapers?" "He's sleeping with you?" The list is endless, and the comments  often judgmental, incredulous, dismissive, or condescending. I'm not talking  about commenting on blatant abuse or physical harm, but the simple choices.  We're afraid of being criticized for our choices, so we are the first to tell  others how their choices should be like ours.

No two  children are the same. The differences between my two boys are staggering,  despite the fact that I can hardly distinguish between their baby pictures. I  fight to give them room to be themselves. To grow and learn at their own pace.  Finding an encouraging their talents. I'm learning just as much about parenting  as they are about growing up, and making many mistakes. I should give the  same room to other parents, allowing them to make their own choices without  judgment from me.

Kids get  report cards a couple of times a year, and employees have at least an annual  review, but parents get reviewed, graded, and judged with every word and move  they make as parents. Let's be kind to each other, and give each other the space  to be real, growing parents ... the space we crave for ourselves.