Parenting is definitely a competitive sport.
When my daughter was just over a year old, I made a list of all the words she could say. I compared notes with a coworker whose daughter was six months older. My daughter could say many more words. I was pretty excited; I felt like the world’s best mom.
When my son was three months old, he fell over in his car seat and smacked his forehead on the ground. A visible lump appeared. I spent the evening in the hospital while doctors ran tests to make sure he was healthy. It was clear that I’m the world’s worst mom.
When my daughter was two years old, she entered daycare. On her first day, she bit another child. It was easy to see I’m the world’s worst mom.
When my son was in daycare, I dreaded picking him up. I knew I would hear a litany of who he had pushed, tackled, stepped on, or hit. I’m the world’s worst mom.
When my daughter began kindergarten, she could already read. Of course I taught her; I’m the world’s best mom.
In kindergarten a group of students wouldn’t let my daughter play with them because she was too short. She began to cry every morning before school and didn’t want to attend. I realized I’d been so focused on teaching her to be polite and not argumentative that I hadn’t taught her to stand up for herself. I’m the world’s worst mom.
She dressed as Frida Kahlo for Halloween in first grade, complete with canvas and paintbrush. She read books about Frida Kahlo to prepare. She won first place in the costume contest. I’m the world’s best mom.
When my son was in first grade, his best friend was the largest loudest boy, the one with the foulest mouth, the one who kicked, hit and bullied others. I couldn’t understand why my son sought him out, but it’s probably because I’m the world’s worst mom.
When my son, in second grade, cleaned out his drawers and filled bags of clothes for the needy, his eyes filled with tears. He was overcome by emotion thinking of how happy children would be to receive the 30 pairs of socks he was donating. I was overcome by embarrassment that my son even owned enough socks that he had 30 pairs to donate. I’m the best mom in world, or maybe the worst.
My son struggled so much with school that we decided to have him evaluated for Attention Deficit Disorder. When he was prescribed medication for ADD, I couldn’t figure out if I was wrong for having waited so long to medicate him or wrong for giving in to medication instead of just toughing it out. Either way, I was certain that I was the world’s worst mom.
When my daughter graduated from middle school, she won so many academic trophies that she couldn’t fit them all into her arms. I’m the world’s best mom.
When my son graduated from middle school, he won one award, the award for best PE student. He skipped across the stage with such glee to receive his trophy that the audience clapped at his joy. An award is an award, right? I am the world’s best mom.
When my daughter was in high school, she took a trip to New York. Of all the Broadway plays she could have chosen to watch, she chose the raunchy show, “The Book of Mormon.” She bragged about it at church and I found myself cornered by the youth pastor, who asked me, “What kind of mom lets her child watch ‘The Book of Mormon?’” The world’s worst mom, obviously.
When my son was in high school, he tried out for the baseball team. He didn’t make the cut, but he offered to be the bullpen catcher. He practiced every day with the team, and over the course of the season was put into the game at times when players were absent, scored a few runs, and ended the season with a number, a jersey, and a cap. His perseverance paid off. I’m the world’s best mom.
My kids try hard, and they succeed. Sometimes they try hard and still fail. Sometimes they don’t try at all. Some days they break their hearts trying.
Teachers love them; teachers dislike them. They earn awards and detentions, praise and disdain. Their hearts break for the poor, and pine for material acquisitions.
Parenting well is hard and I am inconsistent. Some days I yell, some days I praise. There are moments I know exactly what to do and others when I am floundering. Although my children aren’t perfect, they’re pretty good. I guess it’s because they’ve been raised by the world’s okayest mom.
