Tiptoeing with the drill sergeant

Do you ever have days when you feel like a rotten parent? Today’s my day. Of course, some of you will say “never,” mainly because you don’t actually have any children. Just you wait. You know, I never expected to be a good parent — one reason I had originally hoped to wait until I was 35 to have kids, or possibly later – but then I became one, and my anal retentive/perfectionist side kicked in right away. I read everything I could lay my hands on about raising kids, and found that most of it was, as the British say, absolute bollocks. I mean, child rearing theory is just as polarized as the U.S. political spectrum. Exhibit A book says to spank, to begin discipline practically while the child is still a fetus, and to enforce a schedule, starting with the very first feeding, that is so regimented it makes the Marine Corps look like scout camp. Exhibit B book says to breastfeed until child is in college, or until child leaves home, whichever is later, to never spank, to never say “no” but always “redirect,” and treats that child as if it were a teensy, tiny grown-up. Would you like to be scolded in front of others? It asks. No, but on the other hand, I don’t often fart and giggle in public (only sometimes), and I definitely have my drooling problems under control. So, each and every day, we as parents try to walk that line between Marine Corps training and tiptoe through the tulips patronizing, and any given day, I feel like I’ve failed in one way or another. Today? Ben and I squabbled because he refused to hold my hand in the mall (I have visions of child-snatchers waiting behind every mannequin) and I forced him to do it. He responded by going completely limp; I countered by dragging him. Passerby stared at me like I was the evil mommy from the planet zorg, Ben howled bloody murder, and I wished for a nanny, or at the very least, good Valium. In the end, I chose a tulip-tiptoeing friendly lecture about danger, and the importance of listening to mommy, to go along with my drill-sergeant-style dragging (through the rain outside, which encouraged him to start walking) and another day has gone by where I throw my hands up and say, “I don’t know, and I certainly hope that loving him, along with saving to pay for his future therapist, will be enough.” In the meantime — Drop and give me twenty, maggot! And have a nice day. Tulip, anyone?