Since my daughter was born, here’s what I’ve learned about parenting:
I’m doing it wrong.
I’ve learned this from friends. From family. From Internet message boards. From strangers at the supermarket. Every choice we’ve made is wrong by someone’s lights. Every choice we will make is going to make somebody’s eyes roll with contempt.
But here’s the thing: She’s happy. She’s strong. She’s bouncy and active and interested and bright and delightful. She’s even (gasp!) obedient - most of the time. So maybe someday she’ll be telling a therapist that she didn’t get her scholarship to Harvard because Mommy let her watch “Follow That Bird” instead of insisting on “Baby Einstein.” If it’s not Sesame Street that does it, it’ll be something else.
So I have one thing to say to those people who would explain to me - kindly or otherwise - how badly I’m screwing up my kid:
I don’t have time to worry about what you think.
I am too busy raising a child.
