I thought I was destined to be a “natural mom.” Growing up, my mom was all about breastfeeding and co-sleeping for what felt like forever. I was set on having a homebirth—and a water birth, no less. Once my son arrived, my husband and I eagerly embraced attachment parenting.
We got our hands on the attachment parenting bible: The Baby Book by Dr. Harper. He assured me that you literally cannot hold your baby too much; a mother’s arms are the rightful place for all newborns. Honestly, I don’t think our son was ever set down during those initial weeks. When he wasn’t nursing (which was basically all the time), we wore him in a baby carrier or let him snooze on our chests.
Now, to be fair, Dr. Harper never claimed that you can’t put your baby down. He emphasized that parents also need to prioritize their own well-being. But as a new (and extremely exhausted) mom, I missed that point entirely. I was desperate for something clear-cut to grasp onto, so I convinced myself that my baby needed my undivided attention 24/7.
Of course, adhering to that plan didn’t guarantee that my baby was content—or that I was, for that matter. My little one cried. A lot. Every night, for hours. I vividly remember one evening when I tried nursing him, and he shoved me away with his tiny fists. When I attempted to wear him, he stiffened like a board and refused to be tucked into the carrier. With my husband at work, there were no other arms to turn to.
As I paced our small apartment with a wailing baby, I felt like screaming too. Instead, I tried to keep it together and asked myself, “What would Dr. Harper do?” In that moment, the absurdity hit me like a ton of bricks. Why on earth was I seeking advice from a man I didn’t know, who wasn’t there with us while my baby was having a meltdown?
In a moment of desperation, I remembered we had a baby swing that someone gifted us. I scrambled to put it together (yes, while cradling a screaming baby—because apparently I was supermom), and after plopping him in, I flipped the switch.
And just like that, he stopped crying.
Oops. Looks like I wasn’t much of an attachment parent after all.
The truth is, no one fits neatly into a single parenting style. You borrow bits from every book, article, and conversation, then weave it together to create your unique approach. Sure, I eventually followed in my mother’s footsteps by breastfeeding and co-sleeping for quite some time, but I also used disposable diapers, vaccinated my kids, and occasionally treated them to fries from McDonald’s.
Most importantly, if you get too stuck on one parenting philosophy, you might overlook the most critical resource: your own instincts. We know our kids better than anyone else. We are the ones present day in and day out, and we understand what will work for them and what simply won’t.
Advice from others can certainly be helpful, but parenting rarely adheres to a one-size-fits-all mold, so keep an open mind. Take what resonates with you, and toss the rest aside, where it belongs.
I’ve got a soft spot for Dr. Harper—largely because I did follow much of his guidance (especially that nugget about trusting your instincts, which is a common recommendation among solid parenting coaches). But what I remember most is the day he made me realize that parenting philosophies are, well, nonsense.
For more insights, check out other related resources like this one that dives into the world of home insemination or explore this authority on the topic. If you’re navigating pregnancy, March of Dimes offers fantastic support.
In summary, parenting is an unpredictable journey that often defies strict philosophies. Embrace your unique style, trust your instincts, and remember that a flexible approach can lead to the best outcomes for your family.