Parenting
Updated: June 18, 2014
Originally Published: Feb. 21, 2011
When my partner agreed to embark on the journey of parenthood with me, I was taken aback. Perhaps I should have anticipated this, considering we had chosen a girl’s name just four months into our relationship. That name? Mia, inspired by Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. And no, we certainly didn’t want her to emulate that role model.
Even with our future daughter’s name already decided, I was still surprised by how quickly he consented to having a baby. Maybe it had something to do with me lounging in bed in pajamas, happily snacking on junk food, while a mountain of dishes loomed over our sink. This was hardly the composed image I thought I needed to portray before he would agree to co-parent. In reality, I looked more like an oddly mature teenager.
I’m a bit of a paradox when it comes to getting things done. I tackle my passions with wild enthusiasm, while the routine chores linger indefinitely, possibly forever. If I set my sights on conquering a new world, I’d likely do it with grace and efficiency, establishing myself as a kind and just ruler—albeit one with a laundry pile brushing against my waist.
When our son arrived, we wisely chose not to name him Mia, despite it being our sole name choice. Now, I often find myself second-guessing our other decisions. We’ve become more diligent about doing the dishes, and our laundry pile is no longer a hazardous tower.
Yet, I still grapple with feelings that suggest I’m merely pretending to be a parent. When he engages in new and mischievous antics, I often stifle laughter. There are times I don’t want him to go to bed simply because we’re having too much fun together, while at other moments, I can’t wait for him to sleep so I can enjoy some adult time that doesn’t involve scrubbing food off the walls.
I don’t feel particularly parental. I had imagined that motherhood would strip me of my connection to pop culture and my ability to appreciate chaos. But, I’m still very much me. My hair didn’t magically twist into a bun when I became a mom; I’m still wandering around in pajamas at 4 PM, flipping through VH1 to sneak a countdown show instead of enduring another round of children’s programming. Overwhelmed with guilt at the thought of exposing my son to the latest celebrity train wreck, I often compromise by dancing with DJ Lance Rock instead—though it’s not always my first choice of activity. Just like I sometimes struggle with knowing the right moment to discipline him.
Despite reading countless parenting books and articles, none have provided the secret map to successful parenting. Most days, I’m simply relying on my instincts, winging it like the rest of us. I’m just pretending to have all the answers, despite feeling like a five-year-old myself.
This brings me to a realization: Were our parents play-acting too? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. My mother’s laughter at my antics suggests I might be onto something.
For those interested in exploring the journey of parenthood, check out resources like this excellent guide on intrauterine insemination or dive into the world of home insemination kits for a more hands-on approach. If you’re ready to take the plunge into the world of self-insemination, consider the BabyMaker kit.
In summary, parenting can feel like a grand performance where everyone is just trying to keep it together, often questioning whether anyone truly knows what they’re doing.
Keyphrase: parenting doubts and experiences
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