There’s No “Right” Way to Parent, Part 1

“I will not ‘should’ on myself today.”

Betty B. (my maternal grandmother)

I wrote in my last post about my quest to overcome pursuit of the gold medal of productivity. I’m going to stick with the Olympic metaphor for a minute as a reminder that the 2020 Paralympic Games start on Tuesday!

While productivity and achievement might be my current version of the gold medal, when I was younger, my “gold” was definitely being right. Literally nothing else mattered to me. There was the right answer or the right way to do something and then there was the wrong way. My parents would often ask, “do you want our advice or do you just want to tell us why we’re wrong?”

Fortunately, people grow and our brains are plastic so I have developed the ability to see in shades of gray. This skill is critical in my work, but even more so in my life.

While I generally like to be inclusive, because I can only speak to my experience as a mother (and because I believe there is far more mom-shaming than dad-shaming out there), I am going to focus on moms today. We don’t have to look far to be inundated with messages of what we “should” be doing as mothers. Many of these messages are contradictory. Many assume we have certain goals, preferences, and aspirations (not to mention children with amenable temperaments). It’s enough to make any woman question her capacity as a mom and challenge her sanity! In my next post, I’ll focus a bit more on the actions of parenting, whereas today I’m going to zero in on the emotional response to parenting.

I still vividly remember my son’s first day of daycare when he was 10 weeks old. I dropped him off and was ECSTATIC!! I’d had a ton of delivery complications, breastfeeding had been a nightmare, we were still struggling with establishing sufficient weight gain, he was a terrible sleeper even by newborn standards (likely because it turns out he was probably starving most of the time) and he had horrible reflux. Just the day before, I’d had to change clothes four times because of him vomiting on me. And he was about to be someone else’s problem!!! Eight whole hours to feel like myself again- to have adult conversations, to use the skills I’d spent 26 years of school and 4.5 yrs of residency training thus far honing. To feel competent and capable again. And then I got to my office…

When I walked in to my office on my first day back from maternity leave, a very well intentioned staff member asked if I was doing ok and related how she sobbed the whole first day she was back at work from maternity leave. Suddenly, my sense of freedom was replaced by a sense of guilt and a flood of questions: Was there something wrong with me that I couldn’t wait to let someone else (whom, mind you, I had researched, been given a referral for, been on a waitlist for 14 months and definitely trusted) care for my child? That I wasn’t devastated my maternity leave was over? That I wasn’t thoroughly enjoying what my dad lovingly referred to as “the squid stage”? Did this mean I didn’t actually love my son? That I wasn’t fit to be a mother? If I really loved my son, I “should” be wracked with sadness, right?

I spent the rest of the day an anxious mess, not because I was struggling with being separated from my son, but because I was judging myself for not struggling with it.

Fast forward two and a half years and I’m struck by a similar situation. My son has to have his adenoids removed and everyone is asking me how I’m doing with him needing surgery. While I appreciate their concern, it stands in sharp contrast to how I am actually feeling. I’m cool as a cucumber. The kid sounds like Darth Vader even when he’s not sick because he can’t breathe through his nose and snores louder than our goldendoodle, so I know he needs the procedure. The surgery is being done by one of the best ENTs in our area at the children’s hospital where I did my residency training (which happens to be the regional referral center for a 5 state area). It is a quick, common childhood procedure that I had done myself when I was 18 months old. It’s also not Ollie’s first surgery- that was ear tubes at 10 months with the same ENT. I’ve held him while they scoped his nose, through numerous COVID tests, and in the ED a year ago when he had to get 4 stitches. I’ve also seen kids dealing with far more serious situations in my years as a pediatrician and child psychiatrist. In contrast, a 15-20 minute procedure under general anesthesia seems like a piece of cake!

Arguably, my lack of strong emotional response to an already stressful situation is a blessing- it will help keep my toddler calm, which will make the procedure easier on him. It is also likely due to my training as a physician and my ability to compartmentalize, as well as my trust in the medical system I personally know well. But there is a part of me that likes to tell me I “should” be having a particular emotional response; that by not freaking out, it says something about my bond with my child or me as a mother. There is a tendency to equate certain ways of mothering or responding as being “right” and desirable. But life is more nuanced than this.

Today, I choose to embrace the serenity I have going in to this week’s procedure and encourage all my fellow mamas to shed your “shoulds” around emotional reactions to mothering with me. Whether you tend toward sobbing separation distress or an ecstatic sense of freedom, there is no one right way to love our children.