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How to Be the Ultimate Parent
So, let’s talk about parenting. I’ve done the research—read all the books, scrolled through the blogs, and even kept up with those cute weekly emails that told me when my baby’s fetus had fingernails. I thought I had it figured out.
When I decided to welcome my little one into the world, I went for an unmedicated vaginal birth. She latched on like a champ, and we spent hours bonding skin to skin before the nurses whisked her away for a quick clean-up. I proudly breastfed both of my kids, right out in public, for as long as they wanted—well into toddlerhood. They outright refused any formula when I was away, which was a fun challenge. I nursed them without a cover because, honestly, they acted like wild animals trying to escape a bag.
Oh, and when my firstborn was diagnosed with a dairy allergy, I sacrificed all dairy for two years—goodbye ice cream and grilled cheese—just to give her the best nutrition possible. Meanwhile, my kids sported every type of cloth diaper imaginable, including some custom ones made by a local mom. I would never dream of punishing those little bottoms I worked so hard to protect.
I wore my kids everywhere. When they cried at night, they came into my bed, snuggled up next to me. My parenting style was so “crunchy” it could probably break a tooth. And what did I get from all this effort? Two kids who are alive and kicking, but who mainly survive on chicken nuggets, fish sticks, and occasionally, a handful of Pringles. They sneak Coke at their grandma’s house and still haven’t managed to sleep through the night at ages 6 and 3.
They behave decently half the time, and let’s be honest, the other half? I sometimes fantasize about a reality where I could just chill in jail for a bit. No parenting responsibilities, three meals a day, and my own cot? Sign me up!
Breastfeeding was only a success because they wouldn’t stop, it helped them sleep, and it also helped me shed some weight—until they stopped, and it all came back. I mean, my best friend has a kid who was spanked, born via C-section, and only nursed for a few months, but her child is thriving. They eat way more veggies than mine, are super smart, and actually go to bed on their own.
Don’t get me wrong—I adore my kids. They’re awesome in their own ways. They talk a lot, often with quite the colorful vocabulary, and my oldest can out-fart anyone I know. But if motherhood has taught me anything, it’s this: what truly matters is loving them and keeping them safe. The rest is kind of a mixed bag.
You can find plenty of research that claims breastfed kids are geniuses, while formula-fed kids are, well, not. But I assure you, there are plenty of both types who are either brilliant or not-so-brilliant. (I was raised on formula and turned out just fine—right?)
So, do your thing, parents! Celebrate your journey, whether your birth story is one of natural or medicated labor. I love sharing both my experiences. In the end, the most important thing is showing your kids love. That’s the one thing you have control over. Just get them out into the world, love them fiercely, and remain open to all the unexpected twists that parenthood throws your way.
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In summary, parenting is unpredictable, but love is the key. Focus on that, and you’ll be just fine.