On growing up the right way

I don’t know how my mom did it, really. Aside from the fact that I know precisely nothing about parenting or raising children, it is beyond me how my mother managed to instill the values and knowledge in me that she did.

I don’t remember having conversations about what’s important in life and what’s not. There were no huge life lessons I remember her making a point to teach me. Maybe it was the little things, like her telling me, in not so many words, she’d rather have me nurture my relationships with friends and family than spend every waking minute making sure my bedroom was free of clutter.

Bedrooms doors, after all, can be closed – and I’m the one who had to live in the clutter, nobody else. But once a relationship is gone, once a friendship is broken, it’s not so easy to get it back.

It’s the people, the relationships that matter. I learned that much growing up.

But in an attempt to go full circle here, I really don’t know how I managed to learn all I did growing up. I hate to toot my own horn, but I like to think I have some pretty damn decent morals and values. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve fucked up, been fucked up and fucked people up, but I always knew the wrong I was doing. I always knew, for the most part, the mistakes I was making. I just chose to do it anyway. Which doesn’t exactly make me the Pope or anything, but I never claimed to be anything more than human.

Unless it’s before 8 a.m. Then I’m not even human.

But that’s the difference I guess. Knowing vs. not knowing. Choosing vs. choosing to not.

Warning: This is where I may cease making sense, if I even started that way.

The point I’m trying to make here, people, is this: How the fuck do people do it? How do you be a good parent?

No, I’m not pregnant, nor am I planning on being pregnant. Nor am I attempting to get pregnant.

It’s just. Well. Look, I know that at some point in my life unless something goes horribly terribly wrong, I’m going to be a mother. I want children. I want to be a parent.

I just don’t know how to be a good one. I don’t know how to instill all these things I want to instill in my children.

And yes. I know. When I’m not even near the Land of Pregnancy, I probably don’t even really need to be worrying about this. But sometimes, the fact is, I do worry about this. Because I have no fucking clue how it’s done. And it scares me.


3 thoughts on “On growing up the right way

  1. I think that what you're writing, all by itself, is evidence enough that you're going to be a wonderful mother. The fact that you're already concerned and you're no where near ready, is testimony itself.

  2. You just described it, sugar. None of us goes into it knowing how it’s done. I’m on number eight and I’m still winging it. Willingness and the desire to do it are ninety percent of what’s needed.

    My oldest daughter is your age (roughly) and has a two-year-old. You know what strikes me? The frequency with which I hear my own words out of her mouth. All the things I used to say, even when I thought she wasn’t listening, are now being brought to bear in a new child’s raising.

    When you do have children (and I hope I get to meet them), you’ll find that you echo your mother in situations you would never have imagined. And your dad, too. You learned most of your parenting lessons before you were old enough to think of having more than a baby doll of your own.

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