“Not My Kid” and Other Lies I Told Myself Before I Had Kids

Not My kid and Other Lies I Tell Myself

“I’ll never let my kid eat fast food”

“I’m going to do a vaginal, drug-free birth”

“My baby will be exclusively breastfed.  No exceptions”

“My kid would never be allowed to draw on my walls like THAT!”

Does any of that sound familiar?  Let me tell you, I was an AMAZING parent–until I had kids.

I had all this “fancy book learnin'” and worked in a daycare. I had nieces and nephews, and babysat since I was in middle school.  So clearly, I was an expert in child rearing.

Cue hysterical laughter.

My vaginal, drug-free birth became an induction with 14 botched attempts at an epidural.  Baby’s head got stuck and she was born via emergency c-section where I was completely put under.  I didn’t hold my baby until she was nearly 12 hours old.  She didn’t nurse well at all and my supply dried up at 3 weeks.  Nothing would have prepared me for that.  I ate some serious crow once I realized what my body and baby had just gone through.

I ate crow.

But MY kid wouldn’t have screens or watch TV until she was at least 2 years old.  She would eat organic food and go to daycare while I had a wonderfully filling career which I somehow would balance with motherhood and ministry and all the things flawlessly because it’s just not that hard, right?

So much crow.

Much to my surprise, my first child slept through the night at 6 weeks and was a happy, content baby.  She grew into princesses and dancing and Frozen.  She loved to snuggle and sing and was, for all intents and purposes, an easy child.  It SURELY was due to my amazing mothering skills because I did it all so perfectly.

Crow gets filling after awhile.

Cue child #2.  She was colicky, unhappy, incredibly clingy, and loved to nurse at the expense of anything else.  She refused to go to anyone but me but also enjoyed climbing and pulling my hair.  She still doesn’t sleep through the night at 2 1/2.  Toddler little is an absolute tornado.  She finds the naughty spot hilarious, and when we say “I love you” we get a raspberry.  She is obsessed with “chicky nuggets” and must be in the middle of whatever we are doing at.all.times.  

Crow is actually pretty gross.

Here’s my point girls (and a few brave men): we all have these big ideas on how we are going to raise our children.  Whether we want to admit it or not, we see a poorly behaved child in the store, or a wild child at the park, and arrogantly question their parents’ child-rearing skills.  Certainly our precious little Basil-Leaf-Apple-Flower would never behave this way or that.  Our precious spawn would never throw a holy fit in the cereal aisle because they want a sugar coma for breakfast versus dirt bran.  Our precious baby- poopy-kins would always brush their teeth and never pick their nose, and certainly never pick your nose.  

None of us have it together.  None of us.  Regardless of how much we think we have it, parenting by design will always throw us curve balls.  So stand in solidarity with the mom trying not to lose her crap because her child cannot live on fruit snacks alone. 

Distract that sugar-focused kid in aisle 8 because mamas, we’re in this together!


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Missy is an Arizona native who migrated to Iowa on a whim and fell in love. She is a social worker by profession but stepped away from her career to be a pseudo-SAHM to her two girls: 8 year-old Selah and 2 year-old Mercy. She has been married for 10 wonderful years to her TV man husband, Andy, and Bo, the black lab pound puppy completes their family. Most days you’ll find Missy working part-time at a local non-profit, leading worship, and chasing after her children. In her spare time, she enjoys writing/composing music, connecting with other women who are also in the trenches of life, and finding time to get to the giant pile of laundry in the basement. Missy loves a good laugh, crime documentaries, coffee, and naps. She also writes about overcoming strongholds on her blog: Inching Toward Freedom