Choices

What kind of mom am I? No one can truly be categorized, but some people have come really close. I won’t name names....they might be reading ;) But if I’m sticking mommies in little boxes, it makes me wonder if mommies are sticking me in a neat little glossy package, like Barbie Housewife - Comes complete with screaming toddler, towering pile of real Barbie laundry (unfoldable of course), scruffy unwashed dog with real shedding fur, and a tiny Barbie kitchenette complete with dirty dishes overflowing from the sink with real scratch and sniff moldy food!

But seriously, after a year plus of parenting I’ve done quite a bit of reflecting on the choices I’ve made, or rather stumbled through, in raising my son. And I figured those who don’t know me already might be curious to know what “kind” of parent I am. (Or, more likely, this is just an excuse for some personal naval gazing...feel free to go take a nap).

For the most part, I guess I’ve been leaning in the direction of what I like to call “Hippie Parenting.” That is, we use cloth diapers, I still nurse my toddler, have a family bed, buy organic food, wooden toys, etc, etc. But, as I like to say, I’m no purest. When I meet “Real Hippie Parents” I feel I am closer to “Crackpot Poser Hippie Parent” cause, you know, I’ve got plastic in my house, in my kid’s toys and sippies and bedding, because even though I try to discourage relatives from buying him plastic things, it’s not worth alienating anyone. My kid has tasted refined sugar. By the pound. (Seriously, I once found him in my mother’s kitchen, sitting amidst a sea of sugar, proudly shaking the torn Domino box). I let him watch tv. The Bachelor is his favorite - all those pretty girls getting drunk off their a$$es and running around in skimpy bikinis trying desperately to have their 30 seconds of fame. It’s sure to prepare him for dating in the real world, right?

But the more I learn about parenting, the more I play voyeur into the lives of other parents (bloggers especially), the more I realize we’re all “Crackpot Poser Perfect Parents.” I mean, no one’s really truly perfect, right? No one takes on a mantra and sticks to it to a T, right? Or if they did, truly parent perfectly, that is, their kids would turn out totally f-ed up, right? Right? RIGHT??? It’s thoughts like these that allow me to continue breathing, to feed my kid bread when he really needs his spinach, to have friends over even though the couch is covered with laundry and they have to sit on the floor instead, to let Punkin play with the lead-covered tonka trunk my mom pulled out of her closet, and all the other crap I let slide.

At least we’ve taught him to enjoy a good micro-brew...