"Oh, Stacey. Seriously, another blog?"
I know, I know. And chances are this one will last half as long as the other ones. But one of my...urmmm...charms is my inability to know when to say no. For better or worse.
For those not keeping score, this past year has been a doozy. I'll get into specifics down the road (or not, depending on this blog's lifespan), but suffice to say: Parenthood breaks you down and builds you back up. My husband (a.k.a. The Brit) and I are parents of our kooky, almost 11-month-old little boy, J. This kid. He's goofy and emotional and demanding and sweet and irritating and totes adorbs, all within the space of 15 seconds*. Repeat. For the rest of our lives.
Part of the learning curve this past year has been connecting with other parents. Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that every parent has opinions. And a frighteningly large percentage think they're the ultimate expert -- not just on their kid, but everyone else's as well. Me? I finally gave in somewhere around the six month mark and realized: I'm making it up as I go. And that, quite frankly, is as good a plan as any.
The fact of the matter is: If your kid is fed, clothed, gets diaper changes on a (semi) regular basis, is in a safe-enough space and feels loved, you're doing a great job. The rest is total gravy. Somewhere in the American competitive race for Status and Things, I feel we've lost track of what it is to be a kid. That childhood is precious, and self-initiated but parent-supported exploration is usually the best teacher. There is no one-size-fits-all answer because humans have free agency. Literally from Day One. What works for my family may or may not work for yours. And that, my friends, is pretty cool.
There are few things that we're sticklers about over here. We are supporters of science (big nerdy supporters, to be honest), but also of thought-out gut reactions. We believe unstructured time should go hand-in-hand with comforting routine. We vaccinate, cry it out, breastfeed AND formula feed, use daycare, give our baby eggs and seafood and nuts, and allow him to get licked by our dog, sit on dirty floors and uncovered shopping cart seats, AND eat off restaurant table tops. We also snuggle, blow raspberries (a lot), dry frustration tears, throw dance parties, fetch binkies on demand, and avoid TV (unless it's football season because, you know, FOOTBALL).
Is parenthood anything like I thought it would be? Hell, no. Is it harder than I could imagine? Oh yes. But is it also 158 types of amazing? You betcha. And the Macgyvering of it on a daily basis is more than half the fun.
So come along as I make it up. Hopefully, we'll all learn something along the way.
* = Put simply: He's a Mini-Me. Sometimes, I love what that mirror reflects. Other times, whoa. That reflection has taught me one big bit of gratefulness: those of you who care about me regardless of my shenanigans? THANK YOU.
