The Itsy-Bitsy Spider.

I hate love talking to my friends who have kids.

I love hearing that my beast isn’t the only one who throws tantrums of epic proportions while screeching like a banshee.

I love discussing the difficulties of cloth diapering/breastfeeding/working at home while trying to foster an evenly balanced home environment for said beast to thrive in.

I love having the long-distance companionship of someone who appreciates how ridiculously hard it is to raise a well-adjusted/socialized little person who isn’t an asshole.

I also hate these conversations because, either overtly or subversively, these convos become an achievement competition.

‘Oh my baby’s walking! Is your kid walking YET? ‘

‘My kid loves to draw… oh…your kid can’t hold the pencil right?’

Just shut up.

I don’t need help feeling like my kid is behind because parenting books and websites do that just fine, thank you. He’ll do it when he’s ready.

Now we all have our opinions about what’s right for our kids.

I’m very open about mine: breast is best REGARDLESS; cloth bums instead of disposables because who wants to spend THOUSANDS of dollars to help pollute the planet? And yes, I co-sleep because it’s easier to feed my child at night, plus he feels the closeness that our ‘advanced’ society lacks.

But I won’t shame someone or make them feel even a LITTLE bad or defensive over their parenting successes or choices. (Not on purpose anyway; being opinionated and frank means there’s usually at least one individual who takes what I say personally. If you already know me, you know I apologized up front when we met, which is good until the end of said friendship.)

So, please, be proud of your kids. Shit, I’m proud of them, too. But be aware of how you compare your beast to mine, thanks.

It’s hard enough raising kids without being an unwitting casualty of ‘mommy wars’. 

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