Parenting books scare me. They stare at me from their dusty home on our bedroom shelf, taunting me with their guilt-ridden advice. Sometimes at night, I hear the authors whispering "if you read my book, Elliot will become the president someday. And by the way, I have 5 PhDs and you only have half of one...do you really think you are equipped to raise a child?".
I've managed to avoid most parenting books until now, despite their attempts at manipulation. Because every time I pick one up I am tempted to call CPS and report myself for committing such awful crimes as a) feeding my child right before he sleeps b) feeding my child too soon after he wakes up c) feeding my child too much produce or d) feeding my child anything other than organic produce which I grew in my own garden and mashed up with my own hands to avoid the perils of electricity exposure (which, by the way, causes Autism). If you feel confused by this paragraph, trust me, I'm more confused than you.
But lately I've been asking my mom friends for parenting book recommendations. What led me to this desperate place, you ask? It has a little something to do with the fact that I find myself saying "no Elliot!" every other second...as Elliot inserts wires into his mouth, attempts to grab tasty morsels from his dirty diaper, prepares to dive down lengthy stairwells, etc. And every time the word "NO" emerges from my lips in various shades of panic, I wonder "is there a better way to do this?".
Despite years of teaching experience I will be the first to admit that I know absolutely nothing about how to discipline a child. My parents did a great job raising two (really awesome and really attractive) kids. But I also missed 50% of 6th grade because I stayed home whenever I pleased (I know this because the school sent a very official letter). So I feel like my "discipline" technique is a blank slate, and now I'm faced with the monumental task of picking the right story to fill that slate (or write on that slate...what the hell do you do with slates by the way?).
I know there is no perfect theory or solution, unless the Super Nanny will agree to come live with us for the duration of Elliot's childhood. So the primary principle I am going to stick to for now is compassion: for myself as I fumble through parenthood, for my child as he fumbles into toddlerhood, and for all the parents who I've ever judged (except the parents who abuse their children- sorry jerks, I'm not that zen yet). Because when it comes down to it, the majority of us turn out OK. I skipped half of 6th grade and went on to have a 4.0 in high school (except for that stupid gym class, which I got a D in because I refused to take the body fat test in front of my snickering classmates), and my friends who were raised with stricter parents are all loving, well-adjusted people. As tempted as I am to treat parenting like an assignment with 1 correct answer, I will have to accept that there are no perfect answers. And as long as I don't fake a fever and stay home from 6th grade parenting school, I think Elliot will be OK in the end.
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