I’m 7 years in to this parenting gig. I’ve grown, birthed, and nursed three fat babies. I’ve lived through having a 2-year old pee on the rug while I was nursing the newborn (many, many times). I’ve sent one off to kindergarten. I’ve flown on planes with them and endured several road trips (per year) with all three.
So when my friends are just starting out, they often turn to me for advice. They ask questions about pregnancy, nursing, diaper rash… They ask about managing time and energy and patience once #2 comes along… and then #3. They ask for tricks to get through the longest of weeks—weeks when Daddy is out of town and Mommy is on her own.
And although I’m happy and honored to listen and respond with the best suggestions I have in my arsenal, the truth is, I’m a fraud. I might be somewhat of a veteran mother to my friends who are just starting out, but it is only years that makes me higher on the ranking scale. It isn’t ability. Or success. Because, quite, honestly, I am still failing. I am still drowning. And I don’t know what the EFF I’m doing, even now—7 years in. Continue Reading