Dirty Little Secret

I told a lie this week. To a total stranger. We were in an elevator at the shopping centre and a stranger asked how old Miss M was. I duly informed her that she is 17 months. The stranger then of course wanted to know if she was walking. I said 'yes, she is so clever'. I wasn't, of course telling a lie about my daughter's apparent 'cleverness', but rather the fact that she can walk. I was done with having one more person give me advice, judgement or criticism for the fact that at 17 months my daughter is well within the scope of normal development but just on the latter end for walking. 


After walking away from this blessed interaction, I must confess I felt a little murky about not having been straightforward. At the same time however, it felt good not to have to be given endless advice about how to manage my child. I could walk away unscathed and feel brilliant about my daughter until I remembered that Miss M doesn't actually walk! 


To cut a long story short, Miss M started walking unassisted on Saturday. She took her first steps in plain view of Polyglott and myself. I nearly cried with pride (and perhaps vindication). She did it in her own time, her own way and of course with her own aplomb. So very much in keeping with the life of Miss M. 


I have discovered that being a parent is hard work. Not merely because of the parenting element, but because of the fact that every other piece of blessed humanity wishes to kindly assist you in your parenting by giving unwanted advice. Here is a smattering of things people have kindly informed me that I have been doing poorly in my parenting:

• I didn't put her in daycare early enough. Apparently Miss M only being in care one day per week from January until April is now insufficient. I have been creating a child who is clearly 'mother dependent' and won't succeed in the world because of the love and nurture I can give her in the home.It's better to toughen her up, socialise her and let her get on with being part of an 'educational program'. 
• What I feed Miss M. I am apparently a negligent parent because Miss M loves to eat what we eat. I never really gave her baby food and that makes me a bad parent because it was too advanced for the poor child. I look at the way in which she devoured whatever we ate as evidence for the fact that she was all ok!
• My sleep management techniques. When I had Miss M I had grand plans of being an 'attachment' parent and Miss M would just feed and sleep as needed and let me know. Well, that didn't work out too well. Miss M would never have slept had I not set some ground rules. She now sleeps 13 hours at night and up to 3 hours in the daytime. I have been informed that my approach from the early weeks of her life could be harmful. I saw the evidence of psycho, unhappy baby transforming into incredibly delightful baby once she got some sleep. No longitudinal study required there.
• I'm too 'calm'. Ironically no one has ever accused me of that in my entire life until now. I've been more often than not accused of being 'highly strung' or a 'drama queen'. Now, allegedly I'm the opposite. I don't race to Miss M the moment she wakes or calls my name. I try to encourage her to tell me what she needs rather than running through a list of 'do you wants'. I let her roam the house and don't put her in a play pen. Again, that apparently makes me 'too calm' and as such that is inherently detrimental to her development. 

You may be wondering how this blog post relates to a life of tight budgets. It doesn't. But it is my reality as a full-time wife, mother and part-time university bureaucrat. I juggle. Not literally as I am so insanely uncoordinated that I can barely get a cup of water to my mouth. I do however juggle what I believe I need to do as a parent based on the reality of our financial situation, the needs of my husband, my faith and then somewhere in the mix, my needs. Some weeks I get it right, other weeks I fail in epic proportions. This week I managed to get some of the 'balance' right, but told a lie. And here ends my confession.