This week has been rough. I’m not going to go into any detail because I’m trying to respect my daughter’s privacy, but I’d say that this week has been the most emotional for me since her birth.
Parents get a bad rap. We get blamed for pretty much everything. Kids are misbehaving? The parents must not be effective disaplinarians. Kids performing poorly in school? Parents must not value a good education. Kids are socially awkward? The parents must shelter those poor, poor kids. It almost feels like parents can never get it right. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Parenting decisions are the hardest I’ve ever had to make. Because those decisions are effecting someone else’s life. Not my life, not my husband’s, but the very lives of our children are directly effected by the choices we make for them. And sometimes it’s terrifying.
When I was a kid, I thought that when you grew up you would finally know all the answers. That choices would be easier once you were in complete control of your own life.
Oh God, how I wish I had been right.
Being a parent is like learning a language and each child’s personality is a different dialect. Much like English grammar, there seems to be an exception to every rule. It’s dizzying when you don’t know what to do next because it seems like there are always a million different choices, but you need to make the precise one in order to not screw up your kids.
Please, God, let me make those precise choices because I don’t want to make a mistake.