I recently wrote an article for Parent Co. on having the “becoming a woman” talk with my oldest daughter. If you haven’t read it, you can brief yourself HERE. For the most part readers giggled at my experience or sympathized with either having been there themselves or will be headed there in the future. Then there were a few jarring comments from readers who “felt sorry” for my kid and were “saddened” by the fact that I had not celebrated her changing body in a different way. In the opinion of some, my mother-daughter speech sucked. One commenter wrote that she, “feared that author (yours truly) thinks birth is scary painful and gross as are periods.” Now being the hot-headed, sweary, ranty mom machine that I am, my initial reaction was to fire back and defend myself. I didn’t do that though. For ONCE I sat on my hands and started doubting myself.
Did I royally mess this female right of passage up for my kid? Had my crappy explanation of puberty doomed her to years of expensive therapy and a lifetime of deep-seeded issues? Was I supposed to give her a speech about becoming a mighty flower? How the gates of womanhood open forth and the torrential floods of female empowerment rise up arm you with strength and power? (and cramps, stains and hormones?) The answer is probably. Mothers everywhere are armed with better speeches for this type of thing. They are better mothers than I, says the internet.
In light of the menstrual cycle blunder I started thinking about all of the other ways I have failed in parenthood recently, just today in fact. Go ahead internet, judge away. You will anyhow so I mine as well just invite you all in.
For starters the twins had chocolate croissants for breakfast… and they ate them in a dirty shopping cart at Target. I didn’t even wipe the damn thing down. How do you like THAT? We started our morning fueling our bodies with high fructose corn syrup while sitting in plastic carts most likely made overseas.
While we were at the local Target I stopped in the shoe aisle and bought not one…but TWO pair of over-priced toddler shoes. Yes I spent forty dollars on shoes that are covered in bright pink glitter, but that is not the kicker. They have mini high heels! Why in the hell would I do this? The answer is simple: because I wanted to, they were cute and the twins loved them and now the internet can tell me what a crap parent I am for subjecting my girls to all the evils of pink, glittery high heels at an inappropriately young age.
I would love to tell you that the buck stops there. Imagine if I got to the parking lot, jumped in my Yukon and was immediately jarred into realizing that I was damaging my little angels and had seen the error in my ways. Not happening though. I went home and cleaned the house with non- environmental friendly cleaners, served HOT DOGS for lunch and offered the kids non-organic juice boxes.
It was a really nice, spring day so we played outside in our chemically treated yard with no coats on, even though it was a bit nippy. You know what I did during this playtime? I sat in a lawn chair while my kids ran amuck. No one was crying, fighting or attempting to escape so I sat on the porch and read my book. I happily ignored my children as they (gasp) entertained themselves and each other.
We did eventually make our way inside for the night for bath time. In truth, I don’t even know the brand of shampoo that I use with the girls. All I know is that Elsa is on the front, it smells like strawberries and it seems to get them somewhat clean. I am sure the constant use of this crap shampoo will most likely result in one of them growing a third arm or becoming radio active at some point and I have made peace with this. I’m just not buying the expensive shit. The kids dump half of it out into the bath anyways.
Before bedtime we wrapped up the night with I Pads. Yup, alittle bedtime U Tube to keep the kids quiet while I raced around putting laundry away and packing lunches full of processes death-bites. Honestly, I have no clue what they were even watching…and I don’t really care.
So this is just a DAYs worth of crap parenting moves that I will be judged for. Have a field day internet! Pray for my girls, send me some organic bees wax through the mail, drop me a lengthy comment about how sorry you feel for us. It won’t bother me, in fact I will just sit back and wait for the hate to roll on in while I eat my kids’ Welches Fruit Snacks and drink a beer in my Made-In-China sweatpants.