There is a disease that is epidemic among men and women in their 20s and 30s. It's symptoms vary wildly, largely affecting the areas of the brain that control speech and logic. It's called "first pregnancy syndrome" and it's only cure is the birth of a child. There is no treatment during the pregnancy, other than the application of well meaning advice that is generally scoffed at and not taken.
When we found out we were having our first baby, Jeff and I, like so many other couples decided that we were going to do it "right". We were out celebrating our news, and after we went straight to Barnes and Noble to buy armloads of baby books to ensure that we were well informed parents. While perusing the books, I saw that one of the absolute no-nos of pregnancy was eating raw fish or lunchmeat. This fact collided with the fact that I had eaten a ham sandwich for lunch and sushi at our celebratory dinner. I had only been pregnant for 8 hours and already I had messed up and guaranteed that the baby would have three eyes and maybe be a serial killer.
Recovering from this setback, I marched onwards, determined that I would make it up to "Scout". Jeff made me smoothies for breakfast, replete with wheat germ and flax seed. I drank water by the gallon - so much that when I went to the doctor to have the 'confirmation test', it showed up negative. I had literally diluted my pee to the point where modern tests could not detect my pregnancy. I did yoga, well, I did yoga for like a week. I read "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and joined Babycenter so I could know what size fruit my baby was this week. We made a birth plan, bought a birth ball, picked music to labor by, went to the lamaze classes. In short, we knew everything.
And then I was overdue, and I was induced, and we couldn't use the birth ball and I had an epidural and we forgot to listen to the music during labor and I wanted to punch Jeff when he tried to get me to use the lamaze techniques. I had been cured of FPS.
However, now I find that I'm afflicted with a new disease, "That Mom Syndrome". I'm the one who is combing the girls' hair with my fingers at the bus stop and the one that forgets to bring the "star snack" to Jack's preschool. My kids fight like Protestants and Catholics. I let them watch TV for the express purpose of letting me play "Hidden Chronicles" on Facebook. I let them ride their bikes in the street. I am not pinning adorable party favors on my Pinterest board to make for Will's birthday party. In fact, I didn't have a birthday party for Will, period.
More often than not, I find myself giving - mostly unsolicited - advice to parents that can be summed up by this statement - "Relax and find your way of doing things, without worrying about what the 'experts' say, or what your friends say, or even what your parents say". I try to take my own advice. My kids are happy, they're doing well in school, they all have friends, they can ride their two wheelers and tie their own shoes. Will is potty trained and Jack can write his name. These are all good things. And in the grand scheme of things, this is all the easy stuff. As parents, it's so easy to get caught up in the minutia of parenting and forget about the big picture - we all joke and say "he won't get married in diapers" but yet there is a small part of every potty training mother I know that thinks if their kid isn't potty trained by age 3 that their kid won't get married cause she (the mother) has failed and the kid will ultimately be the guy on the street with a sign that says "Will Work for Pull Ups".
So for all my bravado, I still worry about being "that mom". However, I don't see that changing anytime soon, cause let's face it, I think my kids are pretty awesome. Maybe I'll pin some really fantastic dessert that we can all make together.... nope. Probably not.
