High Expectations

So I read this article. Well, not all of it. Well, very little of it. The thing is, I don’t get it. I have no grand illusions of creating the best human being that ever lived. When I was pregnant and all of the other pregnant gals were dining on leafy greens and nuts for protein, I was chowing on Pad Thai and french fries. I figured I was choking down those horse-pill prenatal vitamins for a reason. When I decided against breastfeeding and my doctor told me that my child’s intellect was at stake, I replied that perhaps he’ll be good with his hands. I currently feed the child nothing but cheese, applesauce and banana/orange combo, unless there’s pizza in the house. I figure he’s going to be tall, he most likely won’t have weight problems and I’m sure that our daycare folks feed him healthful meals. When I pick him up after he’s crawled all over my floors and his belly and knees are filthy, I barely notice anymore…I’ll admit, the first few times I was horrified, but I got used to it. I do keep the kid off of the TV, but that’s mostly for me, because I so enjoy watching him busy himself. And I do bathe him and keep him in clean clothes when we go out. But Gouda does lick him on the mouth hourly and I do let him fall a lot. Just this morning his dad bonked his head while playing. SK insists that his head is made for falling (somewhere he read that) and we shouldn’t jump each time he crashes, so we don’t. We cuddle him when he cries and then set him back at the task at hand when he’s done crying. I also don’t feel badly about not even trying to be a great mom. I’m shooting for good. I want the kid to feel loved and respected. That’s mostly it. I guess the thing is that my hopes for Bubber aren’t very success-oriented. I’d like him to, first, be kind and then learn stuff, be curious, and hope that, on balance, he experiences enough happiness that when sadness creeps in, he’s centered enough to know that it will pass. And that’s about it.