Those Other Parents...They Do it All Wrong

Recently our local paper ran a story on a toddler who swallowed several small magnets, and whose mom fortunately realized it and took him to the emergency room. Several comments from readers followed the article. Some were supportive. Some mentioned how glad they were that the child was OK. And some--several, in fact--blamed the mom for having the magnets in the house in the first place, or for leaving her child alone long enough for him to swallow them, or for her "bad parenting".  People seemed eager, in fact, to place blame. And while a few mentioned how these magnets shouldn't even be allowed to be sold, several others felt a need to point out that the magnets weren't the issue. Clearly, it was the mother's fault for having a potentially dangerous toy in her home, and for not having her eyes on her child every single moment of the day.


Wow.


When N had her year old check up, the pediatrician gave his standard talk about how quick kids can be, and how they don't have common sense yet, and how easily they can do something like fall off a bed and hit their heads. I listened, I nodded, I agreed. And, inside, I was thinking, "Of course I'm careful. I'm with her all the time. I've got this".

The next morning, I called the pediatrician.

Because N fell off the bed and hit her head.

I was right there. We had come home from vacation a few days earlier. We were tired. And jet lagged. And though I had been keeping an eye on her as she crawled around our bed, I was not keeping an eye on her at the moment when she crawled right off the bed. As it happens, at that moment, I was, in fact, asleep.

She was fine, and it was at our next appointment with the pediatrician that he told me how I needed to be careful with things laying around, since she was a toddler now, and they could get into anything. Again, I listened, I nodded, I agreed, and I thought "I've got this. She's my only child. I would certainly see her if she was about to put something in her mouth".

The next day, I found a penny in her diaper.

Which she had apparently swallowed a day or two earlier.

Since then, I've had B and O, and they have both fallen off the bed. For all I know, they've both swallowed pennies, though I've never seen the evidence. When B was not quite two, he ran into the corner of a cabinet, and bled profusely from his mouth until Jimmy called Aunt Lion, also known as Dr. Lion, who instructed him to feed B some ice cream. It stopped the bleeding.

Damn cabinets. Obviously we need to get rid of them.

B once had a string from his sandal wrapped tightly around his toe, and I wondered what would have happened if we hadn't noticed it in time. O had the same thing happen with a blanket.

Fortunately, they both still have ten toes.


But we've decided not to buy them shoes anymore.

Or blankets.

When N was three, she almost ran into a busy four lane highway as I was pushing the shopping cart--loaded with groceries and a sleeping B--through the grocery store parking lot. Fortunately, she stopped a few feet short of the road, to the relief of me and several shoppers who had stopped to watch but who were also unsure of what they could actually do (other than loudly and repeatedly scream STOP), since chasing her into the road didn't seem to be the best option.

When B was two, he ran right out in front of a car before his cousin Brian grabbed him.

O hasn't come quite as close to a car, but at this point, we've decided it's best to keep him on a leash until he's four.

He makes up for it by doing things like drinking dish washing liquid, which, according to the nice people at Poison Control, really isn't that big of a deal.

Besides, the other kids kind of liked having their own personal bubble blower.


Stuff happens.

Kids are quick.

None of us are perfect.

Are there bad parents out there? Absolutely.

Unfortunately, I've been in the position to meet a few.

Bad parents neglect or abuse their kids. They abuse their spouses, or alcohol, or drugs. Bad parents prevent their kids from feeling loved, or safe, or supported.

Fortunately, most of us don't fall into that category. Most of us, in fact, are good parents.

Who occasionally have less than stellar parenting moments.

Most of us have days when it seems pretty easy, followed by days that remind us just how hard this parenting thing can be.

Days when the only thing that gets us through--besides maybe xanax--is knowing that others are dealing with the same things we are. The same joys, the same frustrations, and the same utter, mind numbing exhaustion.


Which is why it's so sad that so many of us feel a need to knock each other down when, instead, we could be lifting each other up.


Or at least keeping each other company down there.