Eating Crow

Before I was pregnant, I laughed a lot at myself when I would pronounce my well-defined dos and don'ts of parenting. I knew that such declarations were silly if not entirely premature, but I really did express myself with confidence. After all, I was a nanny for several years. My wee charge was darling, sweet and precocious, and I used to tell her Mama and Papa how lucky they were that they had such an easy kid. Yup, I was setting myself up to be the Wonder Woman of Mama-hood. (Little did I realize, in all my nannied wisdom, that kids usually don't misbehave with their nannies. Most kids save those precious moments for Mom and Dad. )

To curtail the inevitable I told you so moments, I made sure that I announced my willingness to eat crow once I had my own child. I thought that by admitting that my notions of mothering would most likely shift and evolve over time and that I would make many mistakes over the years, I would pretty much avoid others' judgment. In fact, I think I imagined some sort of congratulatory chorus of praise from everyone just because I had the motherly foresight and wisdom to know my limits and imperfections.

But honestly, I secretly thought that my kid would never throw tantrums. My kid would never hit anyone. And I certainly wasn't going to let my kid play with all that electronic bells and whistle crap.

Hmmmmm.

Well, my kid has thrown a tantrum. And by "a", I mean several. And she has been known to out and out wallop her buddies. And while we only have one of those battery operated toys, she's disturbingly jazzed when she plays with that stuff at friends' houses.

So I've put on my bib and am ready to dig in; serve up the crow.

What's funny is that nobody has commented on what I'm doing or given me flack for my parenting through all this. I'm lucky enough to have family and friends who are supportive and positive as far as my skills as a parent. And I'm often struck by how fortunate I am to have such a support system. It's my own judgement and expectations that I should have worried about a bit more as the babe was baking. As I think I've mentioned before, the perfectionism gene is deeply embedded in my bones. So when I was preemptively defending myself as a new mom, trying to appear humble, poised and self-aware, I really should have been listening to myself a bit more intently.

All this has made me recognize that women, no matter what stage we're in, are just too darn hard on ourselves. Lord knows this doesn't disappear at the onset of motherhood. Just when we feel like we've hit a groovin' stride and are ready to proclaim our freedom from the tyranny of our inner critic, we hear that voice again. You know, the voice that nudges you toward self-doubt and guilt. And it's a tough voice to shake, especially when you're tired and have few moments alone to reflect. But as I think about how I want Stella to feel about herself as woman, I realize there's never been a more important time for me to shake that voice. Easier said than done, I know. But if I'm willing to eat crow, I'm willing to try giving that critic the boot.

I'm compelled to share more of those moments, you know, the ones that make you feel like That Mom... the ones where you realize your kid is That Kid.. the ones that make you shuffle quickly out of Target with your head hung low. It seems like whenever I share these stories, I'm met with other moms and dads telling similar, often hysterical, stories of how they've been That Parent too. Hearing about those experiences makes me realize I'm not a horrible mother and my daughter is just being a normal boundary-testing kid. We all have these moments, even when we've broken our backs to prevent them from happening. This may prompt a few entries... we'll see. Actually, we will see. If I'm to embrace this new inner-critic-less mode of mothering, I've gotta share. So hang in there. Embarrassing moments are on the way.