Ummm…for all the parents who beat themselves up for making mistakes… I have one for ya.
Confession. Last night THIS happened:
I got caught up in an adult conversation NOT about baby,marriage, or feeding schedules with a non parent. It was blissful and laughter filled and for those twenty odd minutes I felt caught up on ‘adulting’. The conversation was held over a warm glass of aged port, after a happy beach day on vacation as a cool Caribbean breeze whipped through my no longer blow dried pin straight hair and said as I cooled my heels, that still bore signs of sand and a floor not swept for more than two hours (a near miracle for me and my OCD, ‘must have clean floors for baby’ self), and curled my toes.
I don’t get moments like those often anymore. Moments where time can just fly by unnoticed. I’m a parent for crying out loud!
Then we smelled something. Burning plastic. PRESSURE. We ran to the kitchen and dad, closeby, prepared to grab baby. As the smell indicated, indeed, I had melted two perfectly great (and pricey) MAM bottles. Ruined a pot and melted two number 3 nipples that my son now loves.
I teared up. Failure was upon me. Proof that once again, I had, somehow maladjusted to parenthood. But then, my adult friend laughed.
I mean a belly laugh that peeled through our little beach apartment.
As she laughed, at first I got offended. Was she laughing at all my raw, now plain to be seen, inadequacy? But then I realised, she was laughing at how silly it was. How a simple mistake made the whole house hold ‘fly up’ to their feet and begin an evacuation plan. How silly it was that we were so enjoying some time that we just forgot something on the stove. A small accident. A near miss accident that was, indeed, now that we were all safe, funny.
We were okay.
I laughed too. And then we laughed. Laughed and chuckled at how worried I was and how ‘meh whole life changed’.
As we remived the nipple remnants from the pot in our rental (pot needs replacing now), I felt happy. I felt light. I felt relaxed.
You see, no human is perfect and that goes for parents too. In reality we make more mistakes than absolute screw ups. Sometimes we just need to remember that, with no blood, hospital run or need to call 911, some of these imperfect moments make life real. Parenthood is not about being perfect. Let some shit go.
Laugh at ya damn self. You will feel better. And happier people are happier parents.