Perfuckt Parunting

I’ve realized something. I’m doing it all wrong.

All this time I’ve been thinking that I can call upon my internal reserves, my college education, my moral compass and an insane amount of pragmatism to guide my own parenting, and I’m JUST. PLAIN. WRONG.

Because, throughout this journey, I’ve been crazy and focusing on my child and letting him grow, instead of controlling every aspect of his life, watching every word I say and putting my own sanity at risk! How foolish of me!

And the fact that he has Autism? WELL! I am most CERTAINLY doing it wrong. Just ask all the experts. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

*whistles badly* (I never was a good whistler. Something else I should be working on)

See? THEY know so much better than I do. I mean, why isn’t my son already mainstreamed? Why won’t he eat kale and drink Kumbacha? Why isn’t he speaking Chinese fluently? And there is NO WAY he’s going to get into the Olympic trials for the 2024 Olympics here in Los Angeles, for which I should be petitioning the IOC with every spare moment I have.

If I am ever to see that elusive unicorn, puking sunshine and rainbows, I really need to change my tactics. I’ve obviously done irreparable damage so far that only YEARS and YEARS of therapy MIGHT be able to reverse, but I can start new from right now. I’ve developed this simple plan to turn me into the perfect parent, based on all my Internet readings, gleaned mostly from Facebook, blogs and parenting magazines.

First: Language.

I must be positive and loving in all things uttered from my mouth. I must never say anything about my own feelings or weaknesses aloud, and indeed punish myself if I ever DARE to think them, as anything negative from me can only be construed as abusive. The Plan: From this day forward I will not speak or write or express myself in any fashion. I will assume, and rightly so, that those around me know far better what needs to be done. Our house will only contain the noise of my son, scripting away and screaming in frustration while I maintain a placid countenance. In a lovely apron and freshly coifed hair.

Second: Scheduling.

My son does not have enough of a structured day. I will plan every minute, and enroll him in 5 or more activities in order to a) extend his education to counter the meaningless public school education that is no doubt damaging his precious psyche and really getting in the way of his full grasp of Latin and the classics and b) give him the parenting role models he so desperately needs since I am obviously still a disappointment since I can’t even muster the energy to homeschool him. These activities, on top of various therapies–approved only by a knowing panel of blogging parents, advocates and celebrities–will foster mental, physical and spiritual growth. I can’t even BEGIN to tell you how I’ve failed him spiritually with my silly pagan beliefs and simple focus on the golden rule. How naive of me to think that without Christianity in his back pocket, that I would just be setting him up for failure.

Third: Diet.

Why I am even allowed in the kitchen is beyond me. Why, I don’t even have my own sourdough starter! It is simply not enough to make homemade meals and menu plan, and have fresh fruit available and a freezer full of meat. NO NO NO. I am not NEARLY vigilant enough about how far my produce has traveled, and the amount of grass eaten, or precisely how many vitamins and minerals my child ingests daily. I don’t even check the GMO status of all produce in a 5 mile radius, and I DEIGN to call myself a mother? In fact *hanging my head in shame* I give him…Gummy Vitamins. (gasp) A travesty, I know. So from now on I will keep a detailed feeding log of every item my son ingests, with a breakdown of all the appropriate nutrients of each. I will buy ONLY from farmer’s markets, where I can speak to the farmer DIRECTLY and make sure each nectarine and leaf of kale was hand picked by fresh faced virgins in the morning dew. OTherwise, i could be responsible for the downfall of our society as we know it.

And, as for my child’s picky eating and limited diet? I can really only blame myself. I mean–and the evidence is clearly out there in the bloggy world–if I would just provide a great variety of healthy foods, he wouldn’t be eating dried fruit and peanut butter sandwiches with homemade jam. NO NO NO. I obviously did not start him on healthy foods, instead allowing him to eat foods he likes like homemade pumpkin soups, which was sadly his favorite food at 12 months. No, I should have put him in front of a plate of steamed kale and not let him eat another thing until he ingested every bite. It’s really my weakness at fault here. If ONLY I could have been a better mother and fed him vegetables when he started out–carrots, green beans and peas not counting, of course. AS if they were legitimate vegetables!

Fourth: Medical.

I can really only blame myself. The vaccines. All those diseases injected into my little boy in order to protect others from getting ill. How selfish of me. How abusive. How naive of me to think that the government is trying to protect those with weak immune systems and newborns by stamping out preventable diseases that kill people. Am I not AWARE of how big pharma runs EVERYTHING in this country? Well, perhaps if I were a better parent, I would have read some of the very insightful blogs about vaccine damage and how I am entirely to blame for damaging my child and causing his autism. I mean, how could I POSSIBLY wrap my feeble brain around the fact that he never reacted to those vaccines and never had any serious regressions after the MMR vaccine or other deadly suspects? Perhaps if I had read more, and not eaten Tuna when I was pregnant, my son would be whole and perfect like those other bloggers’ kids. Shame on me, really. My lack of research and preparation should have disqualified me from ever having children, you’re quite right. Let this be a lesson to new parents–please read each and every blog you can before conception, so as not to make the fatal mistakes I have in my ignorance.

Fifth: Personal Growth.

I am an imperfect human. *sob* A spider hanging over a flame, without any faith in the hand that holds me: the mommy bloggers and parent magazines. I don’t know why I am so contentious. To think that I could come to any parenting decisions BY MYSELF? Preposterous. I should have more faith in the thousands of women before me, and ALL the celebrities with an opinion on anything parental, post-natal and “having it all” oriented. This has always been a struggle of mine–doing enough. I mean, working through college, two bachelor’s degrees, teaching in South Los Angeles–I may as well have put my feet up and sipped piña coladas. But now that I have accepted the gauntlet of SAHM, I must challenge myself beyond keeping a clean home, happy husband and loved child. NO. I must perfect my brainwaves so that all I can think is perfection–because once I do so, I can be the parent my child needs me to be, and join the elusive passive-aggressive-circle-jerk group of perfect mommy bloggers. I can only hope of gaining just a small percentage of the knowledge and wisdom they have attained. I have to do MORE than try–I cannot waiver even for a second, or else it will all be a failure.

These are the goals I must set for myself–besides beauty and thinness of course (those go without saying, right?)–that will allow me to make this world a better place and create a child that will no doubt cure cancer and destroy asteroids with the power of his mind (who needs Bruce Willis with this kid around?) Because until I attain these goals, I am just a shell of a human being, and frankly, unworthy of the title “mommy”.

About these ads
Categories: Autism, parenting, Snark | 17 Comments

Post navigation

17 thoughts on “Perfuckt Parunting

  1. Sam

    God, I fucking love your sweet ass. LOVE.

  2. ‘Bout time you fessed up. I hope it’s not too late for you. Maybe there’s a “Stepford Autism Bloggy Moms Boot Camp” or something that can get you up to speed.

    Also, I ate bacon when I was pregnant. I KNOW. Luckily I was able to get into an identity concealment and relocation program for bad, awful mothers. I now live life as “Sally”, originally from Kokomo, who likes cleaning and ironing and military corners on a bed.

    Go forth, new recruit, and spread perfection.

  3. I really really REALLY love this. My favorite line: “hand-picked by fresh-faced virgins.” I almost spit out my unhealthy artificially-sweetened diet pop.

  4. amy @queenofwhine

    IT’S LIKE WE ARE SOUL MATES! Well, soul mates that suck at everything an “autism mom” should be that is. I love you. The end.

  5. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that tuna when I was pregnant! :)

  6. Wow, just excellent from start to finish! Shame on you for the lack of a jar of mouldy old yukky slime aka sourdough. Shame on me too. Also who can afford to shop at farmer’s markets? Here it means you can charge £3.50 for exactly the same cauli down the road at 99p!
    But what a fantastic read. It was Jillsmo on twitter that got me here.

  7. Followed Jillsmo’s share of your post,and it certainly did not disappoint…I mean obviously you did!

  8. Now i feel like a bad parent too. The scheduling, the diet and the vaccines. I’m guilty of all of them just like you. I’ve also heard rumour that too much oxygen during pregnancy can cause autism. I guess my wife should take some of the blame too.

  9. extremeparenthood

    Damn lady, you ARE all that and a bag of veggie chips.

  10. My child is not autistic but she was born with an immune disorder. I felt like I had done EVERYTHING right during my pregnancy, but hey, shit happens I guess, whatta ya gonna do. My neighbor inhaled cigarettes and generic cheetos throughout her pregnancy and lets her toddlers play in the street and somehow they are all 100% fine. Oddly, this makes me feel better. Carry on!

  11. Hello, hero.

  12. Dani G

    Yes. That. All of it.

  13. I just read “Kahlua” in your description. The White Russian in my hand salutes you.

  14. Yes. It’s amazing that they allow us to bring these little ones home from the hospital at all. Oh, wait, did I say hospital? I meant “plastic pool in my living room where I gave birth sans any drugs and all smiles with my doula.” Unfortunately, I think all moms are made to feel that they have failed miserably at everything no matter what they choose. (Just ask moms in NYC who want to formula feed.) No wonder post-partum depression and post-partum anxiety are so prevalent. It’s a shame. I tip my glass of chardonnay to you!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 514 other followers

%d bloggers like this: