Obviously I’m not perfect. So any hope at being the perfect parent can forever be chucked out the window. Buying into the idea that my house should be clean, the days should run smoothly, and raising a 1 year old should come naturally (when in fact it isn’t and it doesn’t [always]), is almost too easy. The truth is that I’m a learner for life and each experience comes equip with lessons and opportunities to grow (which I sometimes resist and have to learn over and over and over…and over). Relinquishing ambitions to be perfect is like a gift to myself. I don’t have to lose sleep over my parental fumbles because perfection just ain’t reality. So what is reality? Hah.
Well, I really want Dylan to have a full tummy, a happy heart, and a sound mind. And the parent in me wants to go about it doing it all “right.” That’s a tall order that can’t possibly be fulfilled, especially without letting some things go…aka control. And this image of Dylan eating is the perfect metaphor for my mommy reality. Dylan does NOT want me feeding him what he knows he can feed himself, even if it’s spaghetti that stains the skin orange. What does he care? But letting a 1 year old feed himself spaghetti means half the food on his head, the other half on the floor, and a major date with the bathtub. Deep breath. [I guess] I’m down for that!
Quite frankly I encourage (sorry spouse) the mess. I’m don’t chant “throw the noodles, throw the noodles” or anything, but I enable his quest for independence by letting him feed himself as I also feed him. The result? The classic baby-meets-spaghetti and therefore spaghetti-meets-everything mess. Though I want so badly to prevent extra work aka clean-up, it’s just not realistic. I had to learn that there’s some collateral damage that comes with a full stomach, happy baby, and good times. And it’s in the form of an extra bath and finding noodles where you wouldn’t even believe. Oh, and I also learned to schedule spaghetti and bath night on the same day. That’s reality for ya.