5 Ways I Am Failing as a Parent

All these toys and nothing to play with.

This week, after a particularly trying doctor’s appointment to discover why my daughter, at 18 months, is still not walking, it was suggested, by certain medical persons, that I was an “over involved parent” and this “might play a contributing factor in your child’s lack of development.”

It took me two hours to realize I’d just been called a helicopter parent who was holding my baby back from walking. And I was shocked. What? Me not be a perfect parent? As preposterous as the idea sounds, I think it might not be too far off.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to think that I’m a pretty stand up parent–I don’t usually yell, I wait until my husband is home to start drinking and I only medicate my daughter when I’m 30% sure she is teething and 70% sure I want her to shut up.

But I’m not trying to brag, even parents like me make mistakes sometimes.  And although my parenting mistakes are few and far between, after doing some soul searching, I realized that there might be some other things I’m doing wrong.

 1. She can’t make a sandwich. It’s a source of constant humiliation that my child, at 18 months old, cannot make herself or her mommy a sandwich. In my defense, I’ve tried. She simply refuses to put the peanut butter on the bread instead of all over herself. This willful refusal to corral her fine motor skills and properly handle a knife is, quite frankly, embarrassing. I’m at my wits end.

2.  She cries. I told her that all real ladies hold their feelings inside until one night, they silently go through the house and open all the windows so that they air condition the outside while their husband sleeps. Despite this, she still manages to sob every time I take away the make up brush because she put on her blush before her foundation. Honestly, how can I call myself a mother?

3.  Speaking of which, I haven’t yet color-matched her lipstick to skin tone. I know, I KNOW! Please, don’t call DHS, we’ll do it this weekend.

4.  She only owns 300 toys. This one hurts the most to admit. It’s not like I don’t want her to reach the Fisher-Price-mandated level of 1,000 pieces of fake crap littering our hallways and porous surfaces. It’s just that every time I go to Target, I get my latte and then I’m all, “OIL OF OLAY IS ON SALE!” Mommy is getting a bit wrinkly.

5.  She won’t get a job. Frankly, I’m beginning to suspect that she’s one of those 47% that Romney spoke of. I mean, she doesn’t pay taxes. She won’t get a job. And every time I ask her to fill out a job application, she just says, “COLOR!” And scribbles with her purple crayon. McDonald’s asked her in for an interview, but she just answered every question with a “MOO!” Oddly enough, they still made an offer…

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