When All Else Fails...

Parenting is, without a doubt, the most challenging experience I have ever encountered. It's demanding, exhausting, and unpredictable, yet amazing, rewarding and extraordinary. But it isn't necessarily any of those moments, at least for me, that make the challenge. It's wanting to do the "best" thing. The "right" thing. To read a book and have all the rules work. I'm sure I speak for many (at least first-time) parents when I say this has been me for much of the last 22 months. Feed on demand. Feed on schedule. Breastfeed. Bottle feed. Co-sleep. Cry it out. Disposables. Cloth. Binky. Thumb. Start with rice cereal. Start with sweet potatoes. Get all your vaccinations. Vaccinations will cause autism. Spanking. Time Out. The list goes on and on and on and on.

I'm a self-confessed perfectionist, which is both a blessing and a curse. While it is noble and worthwhile to desire every good and perfect thing for your child, it is also an exhausting and erroneous ideal that will never come to fruition. I know this in my head, but since the trait is so deeply embedded in my DNA, I tend to chase my tail quite frequently as I continue to search for the "right way".

As time goes on, I begin to understand more and more why mothers of the generation before me always say, "Just throw the books away." An experience in point was one I had on Tuesday night.

Gary was away at a soccer match, which is not unusual. But what was unusual was something that happened with Bean. In a very uncharacteristic turn of events, she became very upset over a new book I had got for her. What followed was an extremely stressful, unrelenting hour of non-stop screaming. I honestly can't tell you what happened. She is normally very easy-going, not prone to meltdowns and in general, a pretty mellow kid. The book was "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" - seemingly innocuous. But something about it set her off. My first instinct was to search my mental database of every book I had ever read to find the solution. Let her cry. Distract her. Medicate her - she must be sick. Don't bring her in the light, it will raise her serotonin levels and she'll never get to sleep! I suddenly heard my internal dialogue and realized how ridiculous it sounded. The desperation to end her misery was sending me all over the map. And, to be truthful, it really did. I tried everything - by the book and not by the book. In the end, I took her to my bed and laid her down, with my arms wrapped tightly around her. She continued to cry as I cried with her. We rocked back and forth, commiserating together. Eventually, from sheer exhaustion I'm sure, she sacked out. After several minutes, I put her in her bed, she slept through the night, and woke up her happy sweet self.

My point? I think God was teaching me a lesson in humility. About how self-righteous it is of me to think I can have all the answers when He has made her more beautifully unique and special than any book could ever explain. I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what happened. But that's the point. I don't have all the answers - and she's ok.

Today I had three very touching affirmations that really clarified this experience for me. In Costco, a woman in front of me in line turned back before she left and said, "You're doing a great job." During her bath, Bean leaned over and hugged my arm tight and said, "You're such a nice, nice mommy" over and over and over until my eyes welled up with tears. And tonight, an email from a dear friend to encourage me and tell me to keep up the good work. In such close succession, on a day where I was still suffering a bit of post-traumatic stress disorder from the experience, I truly felt heaven speaking to my heart - reminding me...to follow it.