This Ain’t No Parenting Competition


gold star parentingSingle parent, married parent, working parent, special needs parent, mutli-child parent—it doesn’t fucking matter, because parenting is not a competition. I would rather listen to “Let It Go” on repeat sung by Minions for the next five years than read one more holier-than-thou sand-snatch dribble on condescendingly apologetic about how hard his/her life is equating to the rest of us having perfect cake existences not worth whining about—though I do generally have cake. I don’t need one more “parenting expert” to explain to me how blatantly and surely I am fucking shit up.

You aren’t going to somehow get better children out of proving to the world your life is harder, better, easier, or any adjective more or less than someone else’s. The concept that one person’s struggles are canceled out by the existence of another more serious problem is complete and utter bullshit. Your life, your children, your struggles, your advantages can and are different and that is A-O-fucking-Kay. Starving children in Uganda do not make something like my kids spilling raspberry jam on my cream carpet less seriously lame. You don’t lack perspective as a parent if you feel that way. You aren’t being insensitive, because I promise, it is not politically incorrect to have feelings. It’s human. You are a human being not a nanny bot (probably *cue x-files music*).

I can’t wrap my noggin’ around this new thought bubble that different must be better or worse. Who the hell sits around watching the lives of others lamenting their happiness or begrudging that their woes are not as severe as their own? Apparently a lot of people, being we can’t get over “fake” social media lives (because, totally, everrrryone has always presented their worst face to the public eye) and we can’t just meet a bad day with a “man, that sucks,” we have to throw out our I-can-top-that-tale of worst days or argue how “it’s not that bad.” We insist on over-analyzing and judging everything, everyone else says, so we can be offended, so we can have something to bitch about, so we can get that gold-star for changing the world one difference of opinion at a time to make ourselves feel better about the douche things we do, but news flash, we’re not changing anything but the meaning of compassion. We’re not teaching our children anything but that real people don’t matter if they don’t think just like us, talk just like us, and ultra-sanitize their thoughts to be inoffensive, neutral-colored spew. We’re seeding a bland universe in their asscracks for them to revolve around as adults.

So, hate me if you want. I’ll call my daughter Princess. I’ll say I’m “single-momming it” when my husband is out of town. I’ll whine about how my kids wouldn’t eat their dinner. I’ll spank my kids and use timeout. I’ll get a sitter just to go to the store. I’ll be miserable when I am sick and tell the world. And I won’t give a flying-two-fucks if you find that insensitive or a sentence of doom for the final result of my parenting skills, because I am not playing a game. You aren’t my competition, and your opinion is irrelevant. Long rant short—just raise your own damn kids, live your own life, and stop worrying about or being offended by what everyone else is or isn’t doing. You might just wake up and realize everyone else is good company.

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