What the hell am I doing? The thought runs through my head at least once a day as my toddler slaps me in the face or forgoes her “big girl potty” for a fully loaded underpant.
Like so many, I believed just having the kid would automatically qualify me to be a great parent, in turn creating the most perfect child. Why would I need to do any research on the world’s biggest responsibility? Google’s most popular search is football rankings, not Dr. Spock.
Parenting is the only job that doesn’t require an application, degree, license or test — just alcohol.
Not a day goes by without running into some mother who feels she’s qualified to coach how I should rear my Terrible Two. To me, this is just the blind leading the blind. She knows just as much about parenting as Joan Crawford.
Lately, Scarlett’s behavior has hit fever pitch. I dare say “no” when she demands a cookie for breakfast; she answers back with a smack to my mouth. It’s time to leave a play date, which she postpones by collapsing on the floor, employing the oh-so-effective “snake” dance.
What’s really driving me crazy is when I say, “Don’t play with that,” she smirks like Ted Bundy, then goes right on doing the opposite of what I requested. Shouldn’t I have a good 10 years before my toddler acts like a teenager?
Bald patches are starting to show on my white scalp, so I turned to professionals — writers. According to the child psych professors, it’s easy to control a toddler; only my incompetence as a parent is holding me back from living with an angel. My technique of ending each sentence with “you’ll get a spank” is just a way to terrorize my toddler into doing what I want; even then, it never works because I can’t really bring myself to let the hand fly.
My mother gave me “Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood,” which tells parents to give their children a choice in order to get the kid to behave, giving up control to get control.
My nightstand is littered with the corpses of demolished parenting books filled with advice on how to manipulate my toddler into proper behavior. As I read the pages, I nod, salivating for Scarlett to misbehave so I can try out my new techniques. Only problem is, what happens when the kid is smarter than the parent?
Fresh off a good read, I spoke to Scarlett in a very soothing, yet firm, tone, offering her a litany of choices so she could feel empowered. Would you like milk or juice? Would you like to paint or use your markers? Would you like to wear pants or a skirt? I was on a roll.
Surely, Scarlett would see all these things I was allowing her to do and, in turn, agree not to pull all the Tupperware out from the cabinet. No. It ended with her on the floor, arched back and drool, channeling Linda Blair. This attempt to use love and logic lasted a whole hour before I started to yell in frustration.
This parenting business is, like, a lot of work. I had to actually think about my approach to parenting instead of flipping on autopilot and yelling.
In the era of Google, where we can look up info on how to properly pop a zit or check out photos of Beyoncé’s latest maternity outfit, why do so many of us neglect to research the proper way to parent?
Talking to my friends, most have not read a single book, taken a single class, or watched a single episode of “Supernanny,” so it seems we all just plan on winging it.
Is this how it’s been done for hundreds of years?
I’ll continue to follow the advice of those who came before me. Till then, I’ll just cross my fingers that age 3 will approach a bit more quickly … because that’s got to be easier than 2. IT’S GOT TO BE!
