Dear Fellow Mama: I Know What's Wrong With Your Kid

Dear fellow mama with the screaming baby behind me in line:
  I see your flustered face and your desperation to just get out of the grocery store. I see your cautious glances, hoping that I'm not judging you and wondering why you ever left your house.

I see you...

Dear fellow mama with the toddler that just pushed my younger child down at the park:
  I see that you're trying to balance making sure I don't gossip about you on the facebook mommy groups and wondering how you can stop your little one from becoming that kid.

Dear fellow mama with the sensitive seven-year-old at homeschool group:
  I see you trying to toughen your child up, but then wondering if you're not pushing them too far. I see you trying to choose what is best for them without making them a social pariah.

Dear fellow mama with the teenager that acts like you never taught him any manners:
  I see you cringing at his behavior and afraid to say anything, lest he create a scene. I see you trying to let him express himself, but wondering if it's your fault that he thinks it's okay to objectify women and speak words you're not sure actually exist in the dictionary.

Dear fellow mama that wonders if her kids hate her because she really does expect too much, even though it seems like all the other moms can accomplish much more than her:
  I see you yo-yoing between being Martha Stewart from TV and Martha Stewart from prison. I see the invisible eggshells that you are trying to tread.

I know what's wrong with your kid... and better yet, I know what's wrong with you.

I don't want to fight with you and I don't want trouble for you. I want the same thing for you that I am seeking everyday... peace. I know that some babies gurgle, coo, and laugh in the store and put a smile on your face, but just because yours doesn't, that doesn't mean you are less of a parent or that your child is less of a good and precious child. I admire you for braving the outside world. It takes a lot of guts and I know that you still need to get dinner supplies, even if your little one's mood isn't ideal.

Babies scream. Toddlers hit. Bigger kids can be selfish. Teenagers suck. And you, Mom? You will never be enough. That's okay. I'm serious when I say that no one is perfect. Truly. After a pretty shitty day (and those have been pretty frequent lately) I thought about how I could see that "perfect" place, but just could never seem to achieve it, no matter how hard I tried. I would think of the reasons for why I kept messing up and who was to blame. After awhile, I had found a problem with everyone and everything, as I continuously assume everyone else is doing, and found myself to be the simple victim of broken systems and a flawed society.

My kids react to me...

Why can't everyone just be kind and considerate of those who are struggling? Why can't they just try to stop and contemplate that I'm going through something, too? 

And then God hit me over the head with a sledgehammer. Why can't you contemplate the struggles of others, too? What if the whole world did that? I groaned with frustration. I was struggling. I didn't want to give... I needed to receive. I was burned out and needed something, anything, to bring me back up. I had fallen. It wasn't my lowest point, but I was down and my kids knew it, too. They reacted to that. They could feel the annoyance and frustration surrounding me. Suddenly I was the mom with a screaming child in the middle of the vitamin aisle, knocking over bottles and boxes in his rage. People left that aisle. They huffed as they passed by to see if he was still screaming.

But here's what's wrong with you and your child: ME and others like me.

As I prayed for the moment to end, I was surprised by a gentle hand on my shoulder. An older woman had knelt down beside me and cooed at my son, asking him if she could pick him up, to which he screamed more. She didn't storm away. She simply rubbed my back and said "you're doing good, mama." I could have cried. She saw me. I see you, too, fellow mama, but I'm sorry that I haven't told you that. Because despite my greatest intentions or silent understanding, you still struggle alone and we aren't made to be islands.

So my dearest fellow mama: I am here and if you are struggling, I will struggle with you. I hope that in some small way I can take the load off you or cancel out a little bit of your stress. It may not have any significant impact, but I can only answer for how I act. I refuse to be a part of the problem through inaction. I want my children to be kind and compassionate people, working to make the world a better, more selfless place, but I MUST lead by example.

So fellow mama: I see you. And from now on, you are not alone.

I will struggle with you...

I Let My Child Cry It Out... And It's Not What You Think.

To start, I have always prided myself on my attachment parenting, my attempts to always become a gentler parent. I love loving my children, bringing them happiness, and being the cause of their laughter, but I am sick of being told that I am spoiling my child, teaching them that they can manipulate me, or am raising them to be overly-dependent brats. So to all of you "tough love" parents: today I let my 13 month old cry it out. Now, don't get all excited and think I'm defecting over to the dark side or something. I just reached my limit. With my first son, I had a dreamy parenthood until about 3 and a half years. My one year old, however, has been slightly less than a dream as of late.

I've said to others: I don't know if it's illness, teething, or a growth spurt, but the past few weeks have been tantrum after tantrum with screaming, bawling, and complete meltdowns at the slightest provocation. Now, I have a business of my own and am a single parent, so there came a dilemma: do I choose work or child?

I chose child. I always do.

But I knew something had to go differently if we were going to survive. So I shut my computer, set it aside, turned off my phone, and laid my screaming, crying, writhing child in front of me. Every stroke of my hand against his back, head, cheek, or arm only served to upset him more. So I set him down. I did not touch him.

But I did not leave.

He needed me. For whatever reason he couldn't reach me and I definitely could not reach him, but my child was struggling, so I sat there with him and watched him struggle. It was hard. His face was red and tear-soaked. His hair was matted to his wet forehead. His back arched as he continued to struggle. For a minute I thought about leaving. But why? I realized I was frustrated. I was frustrated that I couldn't fix it. I was frustrated that I couldn't take away his struggle. But I continued to sit there. I wondered if he even knew I was there next to him.

And then it happened. He opened his eyes and looked for me. Sobs still burst from his chest, but he was looking at me. I offered my hand. He took it and placed it on his chest. I left it there. He continued to sob. Never had I been so grateful to be with my baby. He knew I only had so much to offer. Finally, he turned over and placed his hands and face in my lap as his sobs whittled down to shudders. I rubbed his back.

Slowly, he crept his knees up more. In one movement, he put his arms around my neck and held on. I held him and whispered "Cry it out, little one. It's okay. You're safe with Mommy."

He fell asleep like that. I called my older son in and we did his math in bed while his brother slept in my arms. When he woke up an hour later, he looked for me and I was still there. I had a seminar to teach in two hours and I wasn't prepared, but I had passed a milestone with my son.

I may have him cry it out again the next time he has a struggle I can't fix, but I think we're both okay with that. However, it crossed my mind tonight that I almost left. When he had opened his eyes, how would he have felt? Would he have been scared? Would he have cuddled the pillows instead of me? Would he be angry that I left him? Because although I would never purposefully harm my child in any way, experience is had through perception and no amount of pure intent would have been able to repair that perception.

If I am Mom- if I am indeed someone with whom he can trust his emotions, struggles, and anguish- I must create an environment where this is his perception, as well as mine. If I am to do that, I must earn his trust because, as the parent, I am responsible for our environment. Parents, learn well from me... we can't change our child's perceptions. And we shouldn't. Our children should have a home base. A constant in an ever-changing world. All we can do is be there to prove that our love is the one constant in life that they don't have to earn.