Cockeyed Optimism

That little two-word summation, 'cockeyed optimism,' is pretty much the textbook definition of parenting.  Sure, there are people who procreate for religious or maybe even political reasons, but having children is ultimately an act of cockeyed optimism.  It's all about throwing hope out into the world, and hoping the fates don't spit back at you struggle and heartache.

Though we might be loathe to admit it, all parents have dreams for their kids.  Some are quite specific and directed, viz., I want my child to grow up to be a Harvard-trained neurosurgeon.  Others might seem more pedestrian, but are no less invested with hopefulness, as in, I want my child to be a good person, to be someone who fulfills his or her individual potential and finds a loving partner with whom to share life's journey.  (You  might guess that if I have had a parenting hope or wish, it looks way more like the latter than the former...)

But wishing, as the saying goes, won't make it so.  And because that's true,  parenting takes real work.   It's literally exhausting, from the pain/agony of childbirth, to the sleepless nights of breastfeeding, to the worries that evolve as your kids get older.  From bruises at the playground, to quiet hysteria about first car rides and other dangers, parenting is like some kind of crazy minefield you go through, hoping you don't step on anything that will mean catastrophe.

But it's also true that modern parenting--especially the American kind--teases you with one incredibly false hope, namely, that you can actually control outcomes through how you parent.   That might actually be the biggest load of horse manure sold in a country that probably sells more (parenting) horse manure than any other country on earth.  Go into any bookstore, and the number of parenting books is overwhelming.  From advice about nursing and sleeping all the way through to getting your kids into and through college, there are more advisors out there telling you what to do to "get it right" than you can shake a stick at.  And though I'm not one of those advisors, I'm going to add my two cents.  And here it is:  don't buy those stupid books.  They can't teach you anything you don't already know.

I do confess that in a moment of weakness, when my middle child was waking up every 1.5-2 hours during the night to nurse, and I was already back at work, the exhaustion was becoming unbearable.  We tried this sleep training method recommended by some Dr. Ferber.  It involved letting the baby cry for incrementally longer periods each night, as I recall.  After about two nights of letting my younger son cry while my older son tried to sleep, I told my husband that if Dr. Ferber wanted to come over and get the baby to sleep, he was welcome to, but I was taking him into our bed.  And that's what I did.  And guess what?  Eventually, he slept through the night.

I took our kids into our bed all the time (I think I might be attitudinally African, where family beds are a thing), and when the kids started coming in on their own, and wanting to stay, I prevailed upon my husband to get a bigger bed.  We've had a king-sized bed ever since.  And nothing makes me happier than having my young adult children pile into our bed to snuggle, to watch tv, to read with us.  The only difference is that now that everyone's bigger, there's less room for us parents.

I've gotten a whole lot of things "wrong" in my parenting, I'm sure.  But here's what I've gotten right: along with my husband, I've raised three unique, complicated, curious, loving kids.  They have among them a range of challenges, some much more manageable than others.  One of my kids will likely be dependent on us for life.  And he is an incredibly happy, loving young man in spite of that.  My eldest has told us how glad he is that we didn't live vicariously through him like so many of his friends' parents did.  My youngest has performed miracles, like getting a selectively mute camper she worked with one summer to speak.

Like any parent, I've had my days when I've wanted (literally) to strangle my kids.  Frankly, I don't trust any parent who claims never to have wanted to do the same.  But even in those infuriating moments, I try not to lose sight of what the excruciatingly hard work of parenting has enabled.  While that work is far from perfect--and I'm honestly getting kind of tired of how damn hard it still is--I hope my kids feel that our not taking someone else's advice about how to raise them has been worth it.  And if they don't feel that way well, I'm sure there's a book that can advise them about how to get over it...