Am I Mom Enough? A Motherhood Wish List
May 10, 2012 09:30 PM
Here’s my wish list.
I hope I raise a child who says
“thank you” to the bus driver when he gets off the bus, “please” to the waiter
taking his order at the restaurant, and holds the elevator doors when someone’s
rushing to get in.
I hope I raise a child who loses
graciously and wins without bragging. I hope he learns that disappointments are
fleeting and so are triumphs, and if he comes home at night to people who love
him, neither one matter. Nobody is keeping score, except sometimes on Facebook.
I hope I raise a child who is kind
to old people.
I hope I raise a child who realizes
that life is unfair: Some people are born rich or gorgeous. Some people really
are handed things that they don’t deserve. Some people luck into jobs or wealth
that they don’t earn. Tough.
I hope I raise a child who gets what
he wants just often enough to keep him optimistic but not enough to make him
spoiled.
I hope I raise a child who knows
that he’s loved and special but that he’s not the center of the universe and
never, ever will be.
I hope I raise a child who will
stick up for a kid who’s being bullied on the playground. I also hope I raise a
child who, if he’s the one being bullied, fights back. Hard. Oh, and if he’s
the bully? I hope he realizes that his mother, who once wore brown plastic
glasses and read the phonebook on the school bus, will cause him more pain than
a bully ever could.
I hope I raise a child who relishes
life’s tiny pleasures—whether it’s a piece of music, or the color of a gorgeous
flower, or Chinese takeout on a rainy Sunday night.
I hope I raise a child who is
open-minded and curious about the world without being reckless.
I hope I raise a child who doesn’t need to affirm his self-worth through bigotry, snobbery, materialism, or violence.
I hope I raise a child who likes to
read.
I hope I raise a child who is
courageous when sick and grateful when healthy.
I hope I raise a child who begins
and ends all relationships straightforwardly and honorably.
I hope I raise a child who can spot
superficiality and artifice from a mile away and spends his time with people
and things that feel authentic to him.
I hope I raise a child who makes
quality friends and keeps them.
I hope I raise a child who realizes
that his parents are flawed but loves them anyway.
And I hope that if my child turns
out to be a colossal screw-up, I take it in stride. I hope I remember that he’s
his own person, and there’s only so much I can do. ...His success is not my ego’s
accessory, and I am not Super Mom.
I hope for all of these things, but
I know this: None of these wishes has a thing to do with how I feed him or
sleep-train him or god-knows-what-else him. Which is how I know that these
fabricated “wars” are phony every step of the way. I do not need the expensive
stroller. I do not need to go into mourning if my "sleep-training
method" is actually a "prayer ritual" that involves tiptoeing
around the house in the dark. This is not a test. It’s a game called Extreme Parenting,
and you can’t lose if you don’t play. And, really, why would you play? You have
children to raise.
This blog is not written or edited by Boston.com or the
Boston Globe.
The author is solely responsible for the content.
The author is solely responsible for the content.
