"Big B
Little B
What begins with B?"
The Dr. Seuss version goes on to say "Barber, baby, bubbles, and a bumble bee"
but for me,
B means those things, sure,
but in my life, here are a couple of my Bs.
Bonham.
Baker.
Boys.
and a Baylor D. 
For now, though, let's talk about the first B.
That's a Bonham.
My third kiddo.
The story goes like this: I was 39, Shane was 40. A baby wasn't our plan, but God.
Babies are so cute, so picture-worthy. So instagrammable. So pretty when the filters come out and the snaps only capture what we want them to.
A midwife, cloth diapers, an amber necklace, essential oils, extended breastfeeding, complete with rustic images to prove it all... social media confirmed that my pics were proof that I was the perfect hipster crunchy mama.
However,
The epidural smacked me with the real. I wanted meds for the pain.
Poop stinks, and it's way tougher to do loads of cloth diaper laundry, even if you have installed the sprayer on the back of the toilet and you've hosed off the chunks before schlepping the heavy, gross wad into the wet bag hangng on the towel rack. They make super cute disposable diapers that are considerably more envronment-friendly than they used to be.
I loved the midwife, we settled on a cloth/ disposable hybrid way of life, the amber really works, I'm still a sucker for the benefits of oils, and Bonham breastfed until he was a few weeks away from 5.
The point of all that is that we don't have to do it all one way or the other. Pick and choose. Do some, do the other, do them all.
Moms are damn good at mom-ing. Or... how about this...? We're NOT good at it, and even when we suck at it and screw up constantly and the kids are eating sour cream and onion chips for breakfast, hard boiled eggs at snacktime, no snack at snacktime, oops mom forgot to pack lunch, we're or having soda in the morning because it helps... it is ok.
But hang on.
Is it really ok?
Like do we, moms, on a day to day basis, really feel like it's ok?
Or is "I'm doing my best, it's ok..." a platitude to ourselves? Is it an excuse to just do whatever the heck we want and absolve ourselves of any guilt that hangs out with "less than our best"?
I have no idea, because I'm an over-thinker and a fairly consistent master of self-deprecation.
So I'm constantly wondering "but IS it ok? Am I doing enough? If I crash at 6:30 this evening is that my best parenting? If I tell my kid what she needs to hear rather that what she wants to hear is that good mom-ing? If I yell does that mean I'm the worst mom ever? What does his teacher think when he doesn't have his memory verse turned in or if we haven't filled out the lunch menu for the week or I haven't helped my kid get the free fidget and sticker because we didn't make a $7,200 donation to the fundraiser this morning? When is it allowed- when is it ok- for us to just NOT? When are we not judged or thought poorly of or gossiped about by the water cooler or the lunch table? When do we get to breathe, and when do I scrape by without damaging my kid, and when am I actually being a GOOD mom, and really, is there such a thing?
I turned this into - as I say frequently - the "Jenny show."
Let me back up.
Re. Bonham.
When he was little I did all the things that filtered nicely and showed up well for the socials, yep. But I did spend some pretty significant time (and still do) in those mom-trenches. I did step mom things, Grace and KJ things, and little bitsie Bonham things. Preschool, attempts at soccer and baseball, decent foods, reading, socialization, regular checkups, all the stalwart mom-esque stuff, in the hopes of yielding the normal. He was so cute, with the curls and the smile and the rad name and super awesome shoes and clothes. All the imagery, right? Insta stuff. The "good" stuff.
And still,
he had these horrific tantrums. For a while, it was "just the terrible twos" of course, and I desperately wanted those terrible twos to just be those awkward developmental moments of testing us, trying on autonomy. Asserting the proper use of the word "no." Bonham got that, no problem. He could say no to us, for sure, but any attempts on our end to provide boundaries or put bumpers on the wee bowling lanes of his life were met with big feelings in the form of loud, convulsive tears and awful meltdowns.
Significant.
Melt.
Downs.
We did preschool at Lee Christian, twice.
He was in an in-home day care.
We tried soccer.
We tried baseball.
We tried karate.
He went to public school for Kindergarten- that lasted until Christmas of that year. I had had my stroke, so I was glad to be able to take some time and homeschool him.
Maybe he's a late-bloomer.
Maybe he's just got some emotional issues.
He's had a lot to deal with in his few years, he'll find his way.
He's too attached to his mom, Jenny.
He's spoiled.
There's nothing wrong, he's fine.
He's just immature.
He's a boy.
He's only 2.
He's only 3, Jenny.
Jenny, he's 5, give him some time.
He's a 6 year old boy, Jenny.
He's homeschooled, he needs socialization.
He's at Tramway, he needs a regular school.
He's in a private school, he needs public school.
He's in the second grade; it's early.
He was homeschooled last year, let him adjust.
He doesn't listen.
He's so impulsive.
He's got to learn.
Spank him more.
Don't spank him at all.
As an EC teacher, I was (and still am), hyper-sensitive to any and all things behavior, and
Even when he was tiny, I used to wonder oh my gosh, does he have Autism?
That’s the thing I hear the most.
And he may not.
Is it just ADHD?
Does he have ODD?
Does he have ANYthing that can help me explain this to myself and to everyone else?
I honestly don’t know what I think anymore.
IS he spoiled?
DID I ruin my kid somehow?
Where did I mess up?
Is this genetic?
Is he just bananas and quirky and funny and a giant turd?
Is my kid just a jerk?
*this post is in progress… to be continued…
"DID I ruin my kid somehow? Where did I mess up?" - read this and wondered if there is a parent out there that hasn't struggled with these thoughts at times (well, maybe my parents never did LOL, but they should have).
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