I'm a better Mom than you

I know what you're thinking when you read that title. Either you aren't a Mom and you're thinking smugly 'Shows what that obnoxiously conceited woman knows,' or you are a Mom, and you're incredibly pissed off that I would deign to think it, let alone type it and send it out into the world. First, for the former- vacuously, the statement is 100% true: if you're not a Mom, I am most certainly a better Mom than you, as is that girl from the MTV show that leaves her kid running around a house filled with various forms excrement. Now, if you are a Mom, and assuming you were suitably outraged enough to continue reading: it's a lot more complicated.

I've been thinking a lot about the quality of my parenting, and my inability to spend time with other parents without judging each and every one of their likely insignificant choices. I ought to qualify this a bit- I'm really only talking about parents of toddlers and young children because I know a half of something about parenting a toddler. I'm not sure what kind of hell it is to be the parents of a teenager, and short of child abuse I'm sure all of you are doing everything as perfectly right as is humanly possible.

However, I have definite views on some aspects raising very young children, and I have the poor habit of judging each mother I see handing her one year old a cookie (or diet pepsi- really people? that's something your toddler can't live without?) and every father bragging about how his 18 month old and 3 year old are always calm and kind to each other while watching Spongebob (can a child not spend two years of life TV free?).

Each time I think to myself: 'I'm a better parent than you.'

Be honest, you do it too, at least sometimes. Maybe when you see a Mom at the grocery store, holding her kid's arm mid-tantrum and seemingly dragging him down the aisle? You feel her frustration, and can commiserate and pity her for her the situation (if your toddler has never thrown a tantrum in public, I concede everything on the grounds that you are undeniably a better parent than I); yet you still feel a twinge of pride that you manage to stay calm and collected when your offspring act up in public- because you're a better Mom than her.

My motivation for this self-analysis was actually a friend of mine who recently stopped nursing her 2 month old. Doctors, nurses, and La Leche League all tell us that 'breast is best,' but I've watched how unbelievably difficult the whole process was for her and for her son. I managed to nurse until mine was a year old, just like the AAP recommends, and while there were certainly benefits, the only reason I lasted that long was that I was doing what was best for my daughter. The great milk shortage of 2010 was emotionally trying (is there enough milk for tomorrow?), physically exhausting (3 a.m. pump anyone?), and professionally embarrassing (yup, on business trips I'm the one leaving the meeting to sit at your desk smooshing phlanges against my breasts). I sacrificed for my daughter, and I am proud of that, but I don't feel like a better Mom than my friend who stopped.

In fact, I wish I were so calm and rational. I admire her for being able to stop, because that was the right choice for her son. I compulsively kept at it, despite the stress and complications, and that was probably best for my daughter, but even had it not been, I don't think I could have given up the ideal that I had to provide her with breast milk despite any and all possible ramifications.

The stress on my friend, her son, (and I'm betting his Dad, too) was more than was worth the little milk he was actually managing to get from her. She had to pump and use a bottle, because he wouldn't latch properly, and even then it was more trouble than nutrition. She gave it a solid effort and it just plain didn't work. So now he's happy, healthy, and growing on formula because she was a sensible loving mother who knew what was best.

So why do I judge the strangers at the playground, or co-workers I know only casually? And not this woman who according to some committed the cardinal sin of infant motherhood? I think the answer to the first question is the not-so-startling admission that I struggle with the anxiety and guilt about my own parenting.

I worry so much about making all of the right decisions and being the best mother anyone can possibly be. I expect myself to be super Mom, because my daughter is worth it. I want her to have everything she needs* to be the most amazingly happy and well-adjusted person in the whole world, who knows her mother loves her.  Judging those other parents reminds me about what I'm doing right- I may be at work all day, but I cook her nourishing, satisfying, and real food for dinner. I can't always stay calm when she throws a tantrum while we're late, the cat just puked, and she's biting me. But I can take her to a playground instead of putting her in front of the television.

Given that there are some things for which I have very clear guidelines from scientists and doctors- e.g. no TV before 2, plenty of veggies- I can know I'm doing the right thing. This is in stark contrast to EVERYTHING else about child rearing- which preschool? what activities? going to work to be a great role model, or staying home and spending more time with her? letting her cry it out? potty training early, later, or when she utters the sentence "May I please use the potty"? setting rigid boundaries because she shouldn't always get what she wants, or getting her more fruit before she eats any chicken because she needs to eat something? The list goes on, ad infinitum.

When there are such thoroughly agreed upon right choices, and I see another parent doing these things wrong, it just reminds me how right I am. So yes, it's judge-y, and it would be a better world if we would all stop being so critical of each other, support each other in our common goals of raising sensitive global citizens, and sing kumbaya. But I can't carry a tune to save my life (another of my poor parenting skills- my daughter has no hope given my frequent toneless renditions of 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' and 'The Ants Go Marching') and really, as long we all keep our mouths shut about our critical comparisons**, support each other in what we can all agree on- that this parenting stuff is tough- it's not such a terrible thing to have a few moments a day that remind me that I am a capable, amazing mother and restore my confidence that I am making the right choices. And when I'm being a terrible parent, by all means, (quietly) revel in my failure knowing your decisions on such matters were far superior. You deserve to be reminded that you are a super-parent, too.

**This is absolutely essential- if you come out and say these things to other parents- even if they are obvious, you're just a big jerk and will get kicked out of your Mommy meet-up (see soon to be written post about that).

*Not everything she wants- please note the distinction, for I will most definitely judge you for caving in to every whine, whimper, or scream.

Grow Up Already!

A while back a contest in Real Simple asked readers to describe the first time they felt like an adult. I had that moment this morning. It was not triggered by a birthday, a cancer diagnosis, a death, marriage, or any other dramatic life-changing, insurance-change-elligible event. Rather, I was walking the early-morning, drizzly, deserted UCLA campus, on my way to the gym.

After a lifetime of preparing for a career in academics, and a relatively prompt retreat from the front lines, college campuses have a particular allure. Perhaps that was the origin of my academic path. 

During this self-reflective walk, I found myself envying college students.

This is worth qualifying- I have no interest in being younger again. It really wasn't much fun the first time.  I'd like my options to be endless again. Sure, they tell you anything can happen; but really, that's not true.  It's less true now. I was certainly never going to be in the NFL or sing professionally, but there were many paths available and I have always abhorred picking just one.

My grown-up moment came in realizing that those decisions are mostly - though not completely- made. I have a new career in which I am thriving. I have no intention to change fields, despite interest in everything I've ever read an article about. I have a husband, and, while he's not perfect, he is most definitely wonderful. Not trading him in either. I couldn't trade in my daughter even if I wanted to, and, other than in the interest of an occasional night off, why would I want to?


She is a force. Not to be reckoned with- she's not there yet. Just 30 solid pounds of force: will, energy, abandon, and emotion. Her future is wide open, and she is barreling towards it with the calculated determination of alligator snapping at an antelope, the naive ignorance of the sweet co-ed checking the basement in a horror flick, and the infectious giddyness of, well, a toddler. It's beautiful, terrifying, and a little heartbreaking to watch. That used to be me, and while I miss the endless potential, it was overwhelming as well as extraordinary.

My life is predictable now, to a degree, and I'm ok with that. Much more so than I ever thought feasible. In large part, it's consistent because I've tried out a few options and chosen those that suit me.  This morning I was stopped- surrounded by classic red brick with drops accumulating on my fogged glasses- by the inspiration that I finally am ready to be a grown-up. I suppose that means I'm already there.

Certainly, I have plenty of adventures left. Some will surely involve my daughter and her inspiring-ly happy life. But many will be mine and my husbands, or mine alone. Now that I'm grown up, those adventures will simply have more to do with where I go and what I do, see, or eat, than with who I am or might be.

I'm glad your kid died?

I've read a few blogs lately about how much I don't understand. About how other mothers have it worse than me, and are in a club that I'll never join. And about how I, along with ignorant doctors and perhaps the boogie monster and sugar, am the worst thing that ever happened to them because I have a healthy child and just can't understand their lives.

It's true, and I'm completely unapologetic about having- and having always had- a healthy child. I can't pretend to know what it's like to either wonder, or know, that your child will die. I do know you must be the strongest people alive, despite being normal average people prior to having children, and I am literally moved to tears every time I read an account of any child who is suffering from anything, and his/her parents who are suffering, too.

In fact, I'm tearing up writing this. During a feisty ear infection we had to hold down Penny while nurses gave her shots in both legs, with needles the size of toddler paintbrushes. Let me emphasize- ear infection (routine, common, minor), shots (even more routine, though these were enormous needles). I spent the entire time keeping myself from crumbling; after bedtime that night I spent an hour curled up in the shower sobbing. I'm a complete wuss when it comes to my child and literally believe every parent with a child in the hospital deserves a medal, a home-cooked meal, and the support of every single one of the rest of us. I just need a little help figuring out how to do the latter.

So, while I'm a little offended that I'm the worst enemy of the dragon mom, or the premie mom, I'm more devastated by the heartbreak these parents are enduring. A friend of mine from high school just lost her child to a terminal disorder. And for all the articles telling me I'm awful, there's a dearth of advice about how to help, or at least how to not do more damage.

I can't possibly make life better for these parents. Right now, there is no 'better.' I'm not entirely dumb. But I could at least say the right thing. Or, at the truly very least, send my condolences without insulting her or her son's memory. You people can insult me all you want, if you would just tell me how to say something to a woman who's just lost her son without offending her.

All of the things I can imagine to write in a card either seem to say "Your kid's life sucked for you and for him, so it's better he's dead" or "I'm sorry your kid is dead; otherwise he could be alive and kicking- and flailing and shaking because of the seizures." Added bonus if the parents are religious, for insulting God's will, too. How about "I'm so glad he was in your life, only to die a horrible drawn-out painful death," or "I'm so sorry he was ever born in the first place, causing you (and him) to have to go through this"? Either of those sound like what you'd want to hear? Obviously, this is not how I would phrase these sentiments, but that's how the obvious trite comforts sound to me when I try to empathize with this loss and do at least the bare minimum by sending a damn card.

I do know that the prior phrasings are especially insensitive and inflammatory. Clearly I'm trying to get your attention, but are the classics really much better? "I'm sorry for your loss." Obviously I feel bad for you, but not just for the loss- for the whole situation. "He's in a better place." Only good if I'm sure they are religious, plus, I'm not, so I feel like a charlatan saying this. "He lived a good life." What crap- he was a little over a year old, and sick.  And even if he hadn't been, this always seems like bullshit if the deceased isn't a nonagenarian. I almost want to take up praying, so I can say they are in my prayers, because this implies a sympathetic and heartfelt condolence. But since I'm not religious, this is just ingenuine. Oh, right, "My condolences." That's about the most stilted, formal, unsympathetic thing I can think of.

I am amazed by the strength it must take to get up in the morning; the grace to keep doing it and not fall apart. I want to honor and revere these parents. I want to let them know they aren't alone, even if the rest of us can't relate personally. We may stick our feet in our mouths, but only for lack of direction- not lack of sympathy or earnest feeling.

Frankly, I am sorry that any child is born with so much pain in his life, and in his parents' lives. I'm sorry these children are dying, and I'm sorry they keep living with such debilitating illnesses.

There probably isn't any right thing to say, or to do. I get that whatever I say probably doesn't matter in the slightest in the midst of grief. I'm really not so narcissistic to believe that my comments will make or break anyone's day, let alone in this kind of situation. The point is that I want to help to the extent I can; I want to be a good friend, and a good person. So if you're out there, and reading this, and have any kind of answer, please tell me. Not for my sake- I'll still be an ungrateful idiot who doesn't understand what this is like- but for my friend, who just lost her son, and who could use all the kind words and deeds the world can muster.