Who Wants to be a Society Approved Parent Anyway?

I birthed four 10 pound babies out of my hooha.

I breastfed each one for 6 months.

I didn’t co-sleep.

I put them on a nap schedule and kept a strict bedtime.

I read "Parenting for Dummies" front, back and sideways to be sure I was doing everything the right way.

Did I receive a trophy for any of these decisions?  Nope.

Did any of these things make me a better mom than one who chose to parent differently?  Hardly.

Are my children certified geniuses?  Far from it.

But surely there’s got to be a clear distinction between my brilliant offspring and those who took a different parenting approach.  There has to be, because society says so.  They tell you to do all the things and you'll be a better mom with smarter, more well adjusted kids.

So I did all the things.  I was obsessed with ALL.THE.THINGS.  I was determined to be the best mom with the best kids.

Fast forward 14 years into my parenting and I laugh.  (If you follow my blog, you're laughing too.) Because all the things I did didn't make my kids any better than anyone else's.

As a matter of fact, I’ve caught each one of them licking a window a time or two. One of them ate dog poop in the back yard at 9 months. Another still wakes up at least once in the middle of the night every night and he’s ELEVEN. So glad I kept those strict bedtimes. They really paid off.

I look around at co-workers, friends, and neighbors' kids and and low and behold I can’t differentiate between the vag born kids from those who were sawed out of their momma's bellies.

Crazy, right?

But there has to be some kind of distinction.  SOCIETY SAID SO.

So when I picked up my son from preschool the other day, I decided to see if I could differentiate them myself.  I was going to single out the poor neglected kids who didn't have the privilege of being breast fed. I over-looked the intellectual types because studies show breastfed babies have higher intelligence scores.  I zeroed in on the obvious kid.  The one singing at the top of his lungs with his hand down his pants scratching his butt.  The noise coming from his mouth was as if Gilbert Gottfried and a dinosaur made a love child and Dino Gottfried was singing The Wheels on the Bus as loud as possible.

I thought, "Aha! Found one!"

Nope. It was my kid.

And I have the saggy shriveled up tatas to prove he was in fact breast fed.

But how could a kid who drank liquid gold for SIX straight months act like that?!?

BECAUSE IT DOESN'T MATTER

It does not matter if you breast-fed or bottle fed.  It doesn't matter if you shot the baby out your giner or if Jason Voorhees used his very own machete to cut him out.  What matters is you're doing the best you can with the little humans God blessed you with in hopes they keep their hands out of their pants in public.

We all try our hardest to be the best mothers, to raise the best kids, to do things the "right way" but at the end of the day, there is no right or wrong way.  There is no manual to parenting.

So if you are a c-section momma, fed your baby {gasp} formula or let them sleep in your bed every night, and society makes you feel less than for it, just look around for Dino Gottfried for reassurance and remind yourself his momma is an expert in Parenting for Dummies.  You will surely find comfort in that.

Dino Gottfried, OG