Parenthood in the Time of the Internet

There are a few aspects of parenthood that I consider particularly difficult to deal with.

I suppose first on the list would be the usual things: not getting to pee alone, not sleeping, not being able to explain to a tiny irrational monkey that I cannot, in fact, read her mind.

One aspect that I have found difficult is the fact that I have to deal with the opinions of other parents, and that many parents in my generation are absolutely insane.

It doesn't help, perhaps, that I don't have many parent friends in real life and therefore find myself turning to the Internet. The Internet has blessed me with many amazing friends throughout my adulthood, but it's also exposed me to the thoughts of people I may not give the time of day if I knew them in person.

I think that most parents of my generation are affected by the clamor of uncited opinions that are brazenly presented as fact. While it's true that the Internet has given us an unprecedented exposure to information, it's also given us equal access to the thoughts and feelings of millions of people. The problem with every belief presented on equal footing with fact is that it's really easy to internalize those beliefs and assume they accurately reflect how parenting is or should be. This leads otherwise (mostly) logical people--myself included--to submit to the narrative presented by the loudest and craziest among us.

The ultimate result, then, is that parents nowadays have become absolutely obsessive about things that don't actually matter all that much and have created a complete blind spot over things that could actually matter.

We are a generation obsessed with breastfeeding to the point that we talk of formula as if it's a last resort instead of the valid, healthy alternative that it is; a generation that grew up watching TV but that is convinced that TV and screens are all that's standing between our children and an Ivy League future; a generation that obsessively feeds our children organic, non-GMO food despite a complete dearth of evidence that it's any better than conventional food; a generation that has somehow conveyed the message to expectant moms that anything other than an unmedicated vaginal birth can't be counted as "really" giving birth; a generation that doesn't let children play outside and manages to subconsciously project a fear of the world on them; a generation that assumes we must be constantly playing and engaging with our children and loving every minute of it.

Conversely, we don't think twice of posting our children's faces and potentially embarrassing stories all over the internet for the world to see. We go on and on about how should teach our children that looks don't matter, but then dress our children in tiny adult clothes, taking a billion photos and giving them for free to companies as unpaid "brand enthusiasts." We are shocked by the fact that our children still deal with body image and food issues while still presenting food as having some sort of moral value (with words like "clean," "whole," and "poison.").  We think that our children playing happily by themselves is a sign that we are not engaging them with enough crafts instead of a healthy sign of independence. Some of us prefer the advice of celebrities over educated, experience physicians.

There isn't a whole lot of evidence yet about the effects of the internet, since we are among the first to have to parent children with it. But the fact that we play so fast and easy with our children's presence on social media suggests that we aren't doing a good job of separating ourselves from them. In our race to be perfect parents, to outdo the outdoers, and to out-Pinterest our high school classmates, I think we too often forget that our children are their own people who one day will craft their own identities more or less independent of us.

In short, our children aren't art projects. They aren't medals or trophies for us to show off. They also aren't delicate, fragile pets that need to be coddled at every turn. Human beings have survived and thrived through much harder times, and our sons and daughters will be just fine with un-organic avocados and the occasional (read: more than occasional) fish stick. They can and should survive (and thrive) on their own, without our continual involvement.

I guess my hope for myself and for my fellow parents is that despite the perpetual cascade of opinions we can all just let go a little bit--let go of the need to control every part of our kids' lives, to have the "perfect" birth and "perfect" child and the "perfect" life for all to see, to need to be anything other than enough for our children.  That's all they ask of us, and while it is a very important duty, we don't need to take it so goddamn seriously all the time.

In Which I Compare Parenthood to Fictionalized Serial Murder

You know that scene at the end of Se7en where (spoiler alert, if you just time traveled here from 1995) Morgan Freeman opens the package to find Gwyneth Paltrow's head, and he realizes that Kevin Spacey has totally used him and Brad Pitt to complete his murderous tableau, and that in his words, "John Doe has the upper hand"?

I had a realization the other day that that, for me, in a nutshell, is what it's like to have a baby.

WHAT'S IN THE FUCKING BOX? It's my sanity.

I've written before about how prior to Amelia's arrival I had read and saved dozens of blog posts that ranged in topics from sleep to Montessori activities to raising an "independent" child. They were all centered around one key idea, that by performing the correct steps in the correct sequence, you could in turn determine the child and person that your progeny would become. 

This concept appealed to me, since as an anxious person the ultimate goal of worrying and obsessing is to control a situation that is fundamentally uncontrollable. 

I realized in short order that not only are babies not blank slates, they also don't read or adhere to parenting advice. Or at least mine doesn't. The little rebel.

Though Amelia slept through the night by 5-6 weeks, we have since "regressed" to full-time cosleeping. It's literally the only way she will sleep. Not only does she need to be in our bed, but it means I can't leave the bed (even when she's asleep) without her screaming. And it's real screaming, not just angry baby noises. Despite the fact that when she was a newborn I made something of an effort to not hold her constantly, she is currently at least somewhat unhappy unless she is in my arms all the time. 

I'm revealing my own naivete, perhaps, when I admit that I thought if I had a good sleeper by 3 months or so then that was it. My work was done barring the occasional episode of teething or developmental leaps.

Going back to my metaphor, finally coming to and accepting the realization that parenting advice is really more of a guideline assuming you have a certain type of kid was a bit like Morgan Freeman opening the box and realizing that he never had the control he thought he did. 

I know that a lot of my parental desires boil down to wanting Amelia to be independent. That isn't because I want to be left alone or that I don't want her thinking she can depend on me; rather, I know from personal experience how hard it is to go through life requiring validation, constantly feeling uncomfortable in your own skin, never feeling truly comfortable being yourself. I don't want that for her. 

Perhaps appropriately given my own mental state, I don't want her to be like me.

But that's not what parenting is about, is it? Once you get past the obvious initial stage, it isn't about creating a person from scratch. It's growing a person, shaping a person. And that's exactly what she is--a person, albeit a small one.  Who she is is largely beyond my control, and while it is my job to guide her during her formative years, it is also to love her no matter who she is or who she becomes. Not only that, but who she is at 7 months is unlikely to be who she is at 7 or 17 or 70. 

If she's like me, maybe she'll feel fortunate that she has a mother who can understand her anxiety beyond tired platitudes like "just stop worrying." If she ends up being more independent like her dad, maybe she'll cherish the fact that she when she feels vulnerable she has a mom who is well-versed in the ways of fear.  Either way all I can do is what works best for the both of us and try to let go of the illusion of control.

And that, I guess, is why parenting is like finding a bloody head in a box in the best way possible.