A decade ago, I discovered I was expecting my first child. The last ten years have been an incredible journey filled with both challenges and triumphs, and, as any parent knows, a fair share of so-called blunders. If I take to heart the various parenting authorities out there, I would conclude that I’ve made countless mistakes along the way.
In those early days of motherhood, my missteps felt monumental. One of the most significant was my decision to discontinue breastfeeding. While I fully support a woman’s right to breastfeed however she chooses, my personal experience was far from positive. I managed to breastfeed my first child for an exhausting six weeks, during which I struggled and felt a sense of resentment towards the process. This struggle intensified my postpartum depression and hindered the bonding I yearned for with my baby.
The choice to stop breastfeeding was a tough one, laden with guilt and shame. Society often dictates that we should prioritize our children’s needs above our own, with the mantra that “breast is best” ringing in our ears. But for me, that was not the case. Accepting this truth was a journey in itself, and when my second son arrived three years later, I was resolute in my decision to forgo breastfeeding altogether.
I hold great respect for mothers who can breastfeed and enjoy it. However, as Amy Poehler wisely stated, “Good for you! Not for me.” As a new parent, I broke several other so-called rules. Recognizing my need for rest, I sleep-trained my son at just a few months old and adhered to a strict nap schedule. I would rush home to avoid a mere five-minute car ride nap, ensuring he got a proper two-hour nap in his crib.
Capturing countless photographs during my son’s first year, I found myself often distracted by the process of taking and editing photos. While this may have conflicted with the ideals of mindful parenting, it also provided a lifeline, a way to escape the darkness of postpartum depression as I worked towards recovery.
Now that the infant years are behind me, my perceived “mistakes” have evolved. I occasionally use strong language in front of my children, emphasizing the importance of knowing when it’s appropriate to express oneself. My 9-year-old still sleeps with a blanket and sucks his thumb, a small price to pay for peaceful nights, in my opinion. Unlike the early days when I was constantly taking pictures, I sometimes worry that I might not be capturing all of our family memories. Yet, I remind myself that I am cherishing the everyday moments in my own way.
Perhaps the most significant of my “failures,” according to the myriad of parenting blogs out there, is that I raise my voice. I find myself yelling when my children bicker or when I’ve repeated requests multiple times. Yes, I understand that yelling is not ideal; I know there are better ways to respond. But I’m already carrying enough guilt. The important thing is that I also apologize and engage my children in conversations about it, teaching them that parents have feelings too.
In today’s world, everyone seems to have an opinion on the best way to raise children, and the conflicting advice from doctors, psychologists, and fellow parents can be overwhelming. It often feels like a judgment of one another’s parenting, making it challenging not to feel burdened by guilt. What may be a mistake for one parent could be a victory for another. Ultimately, there are countless ways to love and nurture a child.
Over the past ten years, I’ve made my share of what some may label mistakes, and I anticipate many more to come. However, perhaps regret shouldn’t be one of those mistakes. After all, these experiences contribute to the parenting journey, and what we perceive as errors might actually be opportunities to learn and trust ourselves.
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In summary, the path of parenthood is riddled with choices, and while they may sometimes be viewed as mistakes, they are often the building blocks of personal growth and understanding.
Keyphrase: Parenting Choices
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