subjects that are, but shouldn’t be, susceptible to fellow-parent judgement

Earlier this week we hit the beach. If you’re envisioning warm breezes and palm trees swaying, think again. The Juan de Fuca strait and its windblown shores are about as toasty as Winnipeg in February, but hey, every kid loves to dig in the sand, throw rocks into the water, and climb driftwood, so we layer up and head out regardless.

However, it would appear as if my little outdoorsman is no longer satisfied limiting himself to the aforementioned activities. As soon as we arrive, he starts running for the water. You know, the liquid version of the icebergs a bit further up the coast? Of course, battle ensues. No amount of demonstrating The Joy of Sandcastles and Isn’t Digging Fun? was successful in distracting Callum from his singleminded obsession with attempting a polar bear dip. I sensed a tantrum a-brewing, so I tried applying a new strategy I’ve recently developed, without the help of any child-rearing manuals. It’s called my FINE THEN strategy. It goes like this.

FINE THEN. You want to eat banana peels? See? I TOLD YOU.

It’s actually been working quite well.

So I figured I would just apply the same formula in this situation. I took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants and said FINE THEN. Freeze your toes off. See you on dry sand in 12 seconds.

My strategy backfired a bit when it turned out that Callum was having the time of his life, and he stayed in that water, up to mid-calf, for the next half hour. Fine then. Callum 1, Mom 0.

After a while, I stopped worrying about hypothermia and started having a good time watching him. He shrieked in ecstasy every time a new wave washed over his toes and giggled hysterically at his feet getting suctioned into the sand. I figured that when he was too cold, he’d let me know. After all, of those things at which Callum excels, keeping me abreast of his discomforts is up there.

However, I started to sense a sinister presence around me. A raised eyebrow here, an outright glare there…it occurred to me that (gasp!) my parenting was being judged! Suddenly I felt surrounded by a cacophonous chorus of hissed why doesn’t she put some CLOTHES on that child! and it’s three degrees, for heaven’s sake! and IS SHE CRAZY?*

I started feeling really self-conscious, and much to Callum’s disdain, I scooped up my little bundle of blue lips and numb toes and headed for the car.

Parenthood has rendered me more sensitive than I have ever been. Sensitive in a crying at soap commercials kind of way, yes, but also sensitive in a fear-of-being-judged way. Because for whatever reason, once you become a parent, watch out. EVERYBODY has an opinion.

Take the following seemingly lose-lose scenarios that leave you susceptible to said judging:

1. Breastfeeding (especially of toddlers, and in public) vs. bottle-feeding
2. Disciplining your child vs. not disciplining your child
3. Overdressing your child vs. underdressing your child
4. Letting your baby cry vs. refusing to let your baby cry
5. Feeding your kid junk food vs. banning your kid from eating junk food

And that’s just scratching the surface. Wait till your held responsible for your teenager’s behavior. Oy.

No matter which path you take, there is someone, somewhere (99.9% likely to be another parent) who is rolling their eyes or expressing horror at your parenting.

Kind of daunting, isn’t it? Especially for us sensitive souls.

It should be easy to brush off, but when it comes to raising children, let’s be honest: we all want approval. Everybody’s approval. Often times, we try to fend off judgement with premature explanations. I’ve heard (and said things similar to) “We only give her popsicles when she’s sick! And they’re SUGAR-FREE!” and “It’s pumped breastmilk, not formula!” and “We lost his mittens on the way home!”

Crazy, isn’t it?

Here’s the weird thing: I don’t really care about what’s in your kid’s bottle, even if they are a little young for gin, or what outerwear you were unsuccessful at wrangling them into this morning. I figure that you’ve got your reasons: after all, I’ve got mine. So why should I assume that you care what I’m doing?

So from here on in, I propose a pledge of non-judgment. When you fill out all that paperwork at the hospital, there should be one more page that says something along the lines of this:

LOOK, WE’RE ALL DOING OUR BEST HERE, SOOOOO…

I HEREBY PROMISE TO CUT OTHER PARENTS SOME SLACK.

SIGNED, ___your name here____.

Maybe if I knew we all agreed on that I’d feel a whole lot better some days. And wouldn’t you, too?

* Maybe this paragraph is exaggerated a wee titch for dramatic effect.