My Way

Would you mind if I was ever so bold and made a statement that goes something like this; I’ve taken to parenting quite well. At least I think I have. Obviously the benefits of why or how I do things won’t be reaped until Queen B has hit eighteen and is alive, healthy and is as reasonably balanced as an eighteen year old can be.

I do my best. Or at least I think I do my best. Which brings me on to…the two things I have disliked most about becoming a parent.

Number one; I hate feeding B actual, real, human being food. I hate the responsibility of working out whether she’s having the right thing, the right amount and that it’s going down the RIGHT way. My irrational fear of her choking and therefore croaking was brought about by the second thing I have disliked about being a parent.

Other People’s opinions. Other people’s opinions have been the bane of my life; I was a sensitive child and probably and even more sensitive adult, I put it down to my literal perspective and thinking manner. With all the advice and warning literature that’s readily available for pregnant women and new parents I have found it truly amazing that no one failed to mention that parenting is basically an invitation for judgement.

So much so I’m pretty sure the trimesters should be renamed judgement phase one, judgement phase two and so on, so on. And then that bump which people have told you is too small, too big, too low, too high will then cease to exist and attention is turned to the most perfect, beautiful, awe amazing thing you, as its parent, will ever see.

A tiny baby that you have created. A human being you are responsible for. A little person hat you love more than life itself and will do absolutely anything for because its human nature to do best by this child.

Cue: judgement phase four and I’m not sure whether there’s ever an end to this chapter of parenting?

Since having the baby I would probably need at least another foot full of toes and possibly an extra pair of hands to count on the digits the unhelpful insights, opinions, recommendations or simple insults I’ve received. And as I’ve said, I’m a sensitive dab so each throwaway remark or point of view has left a little scar on my confidence as a first time mother; each perspective has had me questioning my ability, got me all worked up and teary which is especially handy when you replay these little tete-a-tete’s, that people, family, friends, strangers offer so freely, during those witching hours when everything else is already on top of you too and you’re not quite sure why the baby is screaming blue murder.

Its a shame people are not so quick to offer cooked dinners or to take away the ironing pile that actually amounts to the same height as the Empire State building.

Which brings me on to the real reason for this post…why can’t we let parents parent the way they see fit? There is nothing more disheartening seeing people in the same type of rubber dingy as you attempting to deflate the damn thing!

Now, Frank Sinatra only got to number twenty seven in the billboard charts with My Way in 1969 but this statistic is no reflection of what the song achieved, in fact, In the UK it actually achieved a still unmatched record, by becoming the recording with the most weeks inside the Top 40, spending 75 weeks there.

So, what I’m trying to say is…Frank did it his way, Elvis went on to do it his way too and so did Sid Vicious and guess what they were all pretty successful so guess what again…I’m doing it my flipping way too and I hope to god your doing it your way because that’s how the world spins round.

And now, as the end of this post is near; And I face the final curtain.
Reader: I’ll say it clear; I’ve stated my case, that much I’m certain.
Would you mind if I was ever so bold and made a statement that goes something like this; I’ve taken to parenting quite well. At least I think I have. Obviously the benefits of why or how I do things won’t be reaped until Queen B has hit eighteen and is alive, healthy and is as reasonably balanced as an eighteen year old can be.

I do my best. Or at least I think I do my best. Which brings me on to…the two things I have disliked most about becoming a parent.

Number one; I hate feeding B actual, real, human being food. I hate the responsibility of working out whether she’s having the right thing, the right amount and that it’s going down the RIGHT way. My irrational fear of her choking and therefore croaking was brought about by the second thing I have disliked about being a parent.

Other People’s opinions. Other people’s opinions have been the bane of my life; I was a sensitive child and probably and even more sensitive adult, I put it down to my literal perspective and thinking manner. With all the advice and warning literature that’s readily available for pregnant women and new parents I have found it truly amazing that no one failed to mention that parenting is basically an invitation for judgement.

So much so I’m pretty sure the trimesters should be renamed judgement phase one, judgement phase two and so on, so on. And then that bump which people have told you is too small, too big, too low, too high will then cease to exist and attention is turned to the most perfect, beautiful, awe amazing thing you, as its parent, will ever see.

A tiny baby that you have created. A human being you are responsible for. A little person hat you love more than life itself and will do absolutely anything for because its human nature to do best by this child.

Cue: judgement phase four and I’m not sure whether there’s ever an end to this chapter of parenting?

Since having the baby I would probably need at least another foot full of toes and possibly an extra pair of hands to count on the digits the unhelpful insights, opinions, recommendations or simple insults I’ve received. And as I’ve said, I’m a sensitive dab so each throwaway remark or point of view has left a little scar on my confidence as a first time mother; each perspective has had me questioning my ability, got me all worked up and teary which is especially handy when you replay these little tete-a-tete’s, that people, family, friends, strangers offer so freely, during those witching hours when everything else is already on top of you too and you’re not quite sure why the baby is screaming blue murder.

Its a shame people are not so quick to offer cooked dinners or to take away the ironing pile that actually amounts to the same height as the Empire State building.

Which brings me on to the real reason for this post…why can’t we let parents parent the way they see fit? There is nothing more disheartening seeing people in the same type of rubber dingy as you attempting to deflate the damn thing!

Now, Frank Sinatra only got to number twenty seven in the billboard charts with My Way in 1969 but this statistic is no reflection of what the song achieved, in fact, In the UK it actually achieved a still unmatched record, by becoming the recording with the most weeks inside the Top 40, spending 75 weeks there.

So, what I’m trying to say is…Frank did it his way, Elvis went on to do it his way too and so did Sid Vicious and guess what they were all pretty successful so guess what again…I’m doing it my flipping way too and I hope to god your doing it your way because that’s how the world spins round.

And now, as the end of this post is near; And I face the final curtain.
Reader: I’ll say it clear; I’ve stated my case, that much I’m certain.
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