[I will be featuring the thoughts of other mothers because we all have a story to tell. This story comes from my good friend Susanne, and is one of learning about life and humbly adjusting our approaches accordingly.  Because, as Boutros Boutros-Ghali said, “Only stupid people don’t change their minds.”  And we moms are smart and flexible.  We are able to learn what life’s teaching us.]

From Susanne–

I’d never really experienced peer pressure before motherhood.  Perhaps I hung with such a bookish, straight-laced crowd that I never felt I had to mold to fit in.  Then came my first child.  The beautiful, precious, teeny-tiny little daughter also came with a little sign (or so it felt) that read: “Warning: Clueless Mother.  Unsolicited Advice Welcome.  Judgment Justified.  Without Your Help, This Child is Doomed.”

Now, something interesting about all this incoming advice is that each piece of it is miraculously followed by another piece which is entirely mutually exclusive.  “Never let your baby sleep in your bed.  You could smother her.”   Followed by “Your baby’s heart rate and breathing are regulated by sleeping right against you.”  You can’t win.  Whatever you do, you’re WRONG.

And wrong was not something I was used to being.  I knew how to do all the “right” things and had managed fairly well along the way to live a life that warranted general approval.  Now here I was, with a human being whose very life depended upon me, and I felt adrift at sea with no clue which port was the right one toward which to steer, and even if I had an inclination, choosing one port meant deliberately distancing myself from the other.  But I loved and desired the approval and companionship of residents at both ports.

The two ports, as I saw it were defined by the degree to which either the parent conformed their life to the child’s needs, or the child was to conform its needs to the parent’s life.  For the sake of avoiding naming names, let’s call one side anti-establishment, and the other anti-alternative.

As a new mother, my solution was to become a loyal resident of the anti-establishment parenting port, while frequently spending time with folks from Port Anti-Alternative, all the while being sure to make known my differing allegiances and waxing eloquent on the merits of my position.

This came with a price tag.  It came with self-inflicted isolation.  I was the champion of homebirth to my anti-alternative friends, and when I faced struggles after my daughter’s birth, I felt like I couldn’t reach out and ask those anti-alternative friends for help.  I feared tarnishing the image of my cause, and I didn’t want to risk any I-told-you-so’s.  I was still glad for the choices I made, but it was still hard.

What I needed then, and what every mother needs, is just an “I hear you.  And you know what?  You’re doing a great job.  Stick at it.  This sucks, but it gets better.  I promise.”

The years of mothering have humbled me greatly.  I look back and grimace at some memories of my inflicting my naïve wisdom on others.  I once sat at a table, a mix of empty nesters and mothers with children just a few years of ahead of my eleven month old.  A mother shared that she was exasperated, feeling like all she did every day was discipline her 2 and 3 year old sons.  I was aghast.  Where were this woman’s priorities?  She needed a serious reorientation of perspective.  I then proceeded to demonstrate the Happiest Toddler on the Block method I used to teach (I was a parent educator prior to children- I know.  I know.  I repent daily.).  Those saints of women must have been clenching their fists under the table, swallowing their words with patient, “Oh… Uh huh.  I’ll have to try that.  Thanks.”

Sigh.  Five years later, I know better.  Discipline is all you do all day with a 2 and 3 year old!  In the morning, you calmly offer admonitions of “Honey, we don’t throw rocks at brother,”  or “Junior, toilets are not for toys.”  By the time Daddy gets home from work, he walks in to hear, “SON! If I have to tell you one more time not to sit on the dog, I’m going to sit on YOU!”

That poor mother needed an, “Oh, yes.  I hear you.  It is exasperating.  And it’s normal- you’re not doing anything wrong.  Good thing they are so beautiful when they sleep, even with faces streaked with black lines from the Sharpie they stole and hair still smelling of ketchup.  Here- have some chocolate.”

As the years have gone by, I’ve increasingly realized the costs of picking a port.  Perhaps they weren’t ports after all.  Perhaps they were just outposts along the winding, beautiful and tiring road of parenting, where we were welcome to stop and stay awhile as we needed along the way.

I was so afraid of the extreme examples of the anti-alternative school of parenting that I refused to acknowledge the merits of anything coming out of that camp.  I thought that camp rigid, defined by one-size-fits-all protocols insensitive to the needs of the individual.

The irony is, in my effort to avoid becoming rigid and legalistic, I became rigid and legalistic about not being rigid and legalistic.  To avoid the dictates of the anti-alternative camp, I could not waiver on my commitment to the tenets of the anti-establishment.  Even if they weren’t working for me.  I believed that following the approaches of the anti-alternative camp would cause stress for a baby, and stress damages a developing brain and scars the child for life.

It was a counselor (who would align more with the anti-establishment camp herself) who told me that she actually believed that my rigidity about not following rigid parenting approaches actually caused a lot of stress for me, and that stress was picked up by my daughter.

If I could go back to the new mom phase with the humility I have now, I would’ve cried “uncle” on some of the things that weren’t working for our family, even if they were the “natural” way it’d “always been done by our ancestors”.  And I would’ve held on to the parts that did work.  I would have the FREEDOM to realize that it really is true- not just a cop out- that different things work for different families, for different children, for different phases of life.  I would’ve held my head high, been honest about my challenges and enjoyed fellowship with other similarly delirious and bewildered mothers.  I wouldn’t have been so dogmatic about anything- except perhaps the very obvious extremes, which few actually really do follow- knowing that it was likely my words would bite me one day.  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a mother who utters an “I will never” will in short course find herself doing that very thing.

Grace.  Humility.  Freedom.  Those are the words I’ve learned through being a mother.  To give each other space, to be good stewards of our children but to also realize their fates do not so wholly rest on us as much as we fear.  God is ultimately in charge of their lives and is certainly capable of redeeming our mistakes- and we make many.  It’s unavoidable.  Accepting that, learning to apologize and receiving grace gives freedom and displaces fear.

Now, I have entered a new phase of motherhood.  I find myself wanting to make- and actually making- some choices that before were categorically opposed to all that I stood for and believed was best for a family.  Yet, I’m finding that for our family, for this time, it makes me a better mom and infuses life into our home.  I’m learning to not make decisions out of fear, but in freedom grounded in love.  I’m learning that we all need a heaping helping of grace.   We don’t need any judgment (chances are we judge ourselves enough).  As my pastor once said, God has us all on a journey and we are not to judge where He has a person at a particular point on that path.  We mothers should just enjoy and encourage each other as fellow travelers on the road.  Preferably over margaritas and chocolate cheesecake, while the kids sleep quietly.