I just read this article. It’s about parenting and God help us mommy wars. Very interesting. You see, I am aware that it is human nature to compare. We all do it. What do you do for a living? Hmmm. What school did you go to? Uh huh. How long have you been married? I see. Yep, human nature. It’s when comparing crosses the line to judging things start to get hairy.
When I realized my plumbing wasn’t working properly, I caught a lot of crap for seeking help. Somewhere along the way, I decided it didn’t matter if anybody agreed with me. Nope. I wanted them to understand, but they didn’t have to agree. If my husband and I felt we were doing the right thing, then that was what ultimately mattered. Perhaps I’ve transferred that attitute to parenting as well. I don’t spend much time with other women who have children. I don’t think my child will die if he doesn’t get enough tummy time. He HATES it beyond measure. He isn’t subjected to hours of B.aby M.otzart. He prefers songs with words, thanks. I’ve politely declined the invitation to several “mommy support groups.” Hell, I didn’t know those even existed, and still don’t know why. I dodge the stroller brigades in the mall. I guess I just don’t want to be a part of the comparing game.
Perhaps at some point I will expand the social circle for Lucky’s sake, but at this juncture I’m just plain comfortable with my present company. It’s in there company that I can confidently make a bottle filled with *gasp* formula, let my child chew on a toy that just fell on the floor (what doesn’t kill you, right?), and all those other “she’s going to hell” parenting type sins. I do put my child in a swing so I can mop. He is in the bouncy seat while I shower, do make up, and my hair. Things still need to get done around here. I honestly don’t care about the random woman in the grocery store who tells me her five month old weighs as much as my three month one, especially when she accompanies it with that look. I don’t care that the strange woman in the mall, whose son is now graduating high school was rolling over at eight weeks. Should we go get little Timmy a gold star? Perhaps this sounds cold. It’s truly not. I’m so glad people are proud of their children. They should be! I just find it strange how such random people take it upon themselves to tell you your child’s nails need to be cut (true story, Wal-Mart cash register line, few weeks ago), that your child is covered in spit up (K.ohl’s in the children’s department. It’s called reflux, and we do three wardrobe changes a day thank you very much), and at this age almost everybody discusses the child’s weight. Why? Can’t they just say, “Awww, such a sweet baby.” Or, even “How old is the baby? Too precious.” Smile sweetly, and move on? It would be different if we were around the same age, and looking to be more than a random person bumped into in a store. However, most of the unwanted encounters come from those who don’t fit that profile.
Thank goodness that I’ve learned how to come up with a few witty replies (thank you infertility.) So, the next time somebody calls my child chubby (all of 13 pounds and 14 ounces at one week shy of four months), what should I say? Suggestions? I also get comments on his hair a lot (it has a mind of its own), any suggestions there? Welcoming you witty ones to help me out here.
Off to attempt to get some sleep.
