I'm ambivalent about parenting advice. When I was a new mom (the first time around) I would bristle at advice coming from sources I distrusted or disliked. My thought was "Oh really? You recommend Acme diapers? Have you even seen how your kids are ending up? That's clearly related to your choice of diaper, lady. Puh-leeeze." I'm sure that I turned my nose up at plenty of decent advice from mothers because I wouldn't let my defenses down and wouldn't let people chip in.
Don't get me wrong: some advice was just plain silly and deserved to be ignored. Like, don't let your kids drink iced liquids because it's bad for their hearts. They might have heart attacks. Heart attacks - FROM ICE WATER. It's miraculous that penguins make it past a year old. And stepping on cracks in the sidewalk? You know what they say about that, don't you? Sometimes I wonder if other people lack a bullshit filter in their heads. I mean, at what point do you hear something that ridiculous and you think to yourself: you know what? That sounds pretty logical. I better remember that the next time I get ice water at a restaurant. I had better make sure that the waiter stashes Bayer aspirin in his apron and knows CPR. Do people really lack that little golf whisper in their heads that stifles "bullshit" with a cough when someone tells them that their cousin said that he had a friend who had a sister that went to the hospital because she ate the seeds from her apple core and almost DIED from the cyanide? Are these the same people that believe when Fox news says that Obama wants to kill your grandmother with health care reform?
The best advice, at least from an entertainment perspective, comes from the folks who don't yet have children. To hear a childless person tell you what worked for them when they were twelve and babysat, or what they would do once they have kids is precious, so much so that you have to repress the urge to pinch their cheeks from the cuteness of it. Awww, you have no kids, and you think you know what to do? That's so sweet. Well here, here's a screaming infant that won't nurse and won't sleep and won't poop and can give you no feedback about how well or how poorly you're doing. I'll be at the end of the driveway, trying to remember what that bright yellow ball in the sky is. I'll see you in about thirty seconds, Skippy.
However, there were three pieces of advice that I still consider to be the best advice I ever got after I became a parent of a newborn. The first two came from my friend Nicole after the birth of my first daughter (ack! It sounds so strange to say that!) and the third came from my friend Shaunna, whose advice came in extra handy when I had a newborn and a destructive, curious toddler. Nicole told me that the most important thing to realize when you become a mother for the first time is that you can only expect to do one thing a day. One. That's it. You can either manage to brush your teeth or take a shower, but you will not be able to do both. You could manage to get to the grocery store, but only because you forgot to close the flaps on your nursing bra. Sure, you're managing to get groceries back into the house, but your boobs are hanging out of the bottom of your shirt in the produce section. That's the cost of doing business in those first few weeks of motherhood.
Her second piece of advice was from one kindred, type-A spirit to another. See, Nicole understands me. She understands that spice racks should be alphabetized and Transformers toys should be stored separately from Hot Wheels, even though they are both shaped like cars. She is a high school teacher in charge of herding and educating dozens of teenagers at a time, and without a cattle prod, which seems unfair to me. She understands the simple beauty of perfectly arranged office supplies and of toy buckets sorted by licensed action figure, presence and/or absence of light sabers, and likelihood of concussion if said toy is flung off the banister at a younger sibling's head. (She's the mother of sons, can you tell?) So her second piece of advice was simple, but profound: stop trying to do things perfectly, and start doing them well. Type-A people like me can get so caught up in how things ought to happen, that they can end up not happening at all, or become so top-heavy with the expectation of perfection that one little push in a weak area and the whole lot can come crashing down around you. Instead, accept the fact that your tits are dragging along behind the grocery cart, and just get dinner on the table. And yes, until you get your bearings, some nights "dinner" will be little more than scrambled eggs and whatever frozen vegetable you can pull out of the freezer. Or it may be take out Chinese. Whatever. Fuck Martha Stewart, you have a newborn.
The third piece of advice came to me when I was newly a mother of two. Chris was an incredibly attached newborn, and Sophie, who was not quite two, was completely off her axis as the center of the universe. I was terrified at the prospect of juggling the needs of two young children. I wanted to be a good mother to a needy newborn, but also meet the emotional, physical, and Cheerio needs of a very confused toddler. Shaunna's one of the smartest, ablest, most confident mothers that I know. Shaunna grew up in a small (by Mormon standards) family - I think that she only has three other siblings. She's now pregnant with her fourth child (hooray for her!) I emailed her asking how I could possibly manage to nurse a newborn (which, for the uninitiated, takes approximately twenty-three hours a day) while still chasing around after an active toddler with only a shaky understanding of the phrase "Stop eating the lining of that diaper." Her advice was pretty spot-on: When the baby cries, run around the house, baby-proof as fast as you can; then plop yourself down on the couch, whip out a boob, and hope for the best.
The advice is pretty simple, at least to someone who knows that Cayenne should really be sorted under the Ps for Pepper, Cayenne. You can only do what is within reason, to the best of your ability, and trust that you can handle the consequences as they arise. You should always work to the best of your ability, but understand that "the best of your ability" is a moving target, and will vary from day to day. Some days, things will go well, eerily Norman Rockwellian, and other days you will find yourself scrubbing crusted mac and cheese sauce off one kid's butt while chasing down the other kid who is racing around the house with a wet toilet brush.
This time around, I have a newborn, an 18-month old with a vocabulary of about thirty words, and a three and a half year old who needs to be convinced repeatedly that public nudity is not a viable option on the days that she attends preschool. I'll be perfectly honest: I'm scared. I feel pretty confident that I have control over the zone defense needed when I'm outnumbered by my kids, but it gets muddy when I have more kids than I have hands, and at least one of them is always holding a baby. I feel confident in my ability to adapt: these past three and a half years have taught me more about my ability to bob and weave with life's hiccups and my ability to take charge and get things done than any workaday job could have done. It's the twilight between what my comfort zone is and what it needs to be that gives me the willies: these first few weeks and months where I get my sea legs, where I grow more confident in my role as herder, nurturer, and general, all-around ass kicker.
Until then, any advice or encouragement that doesn't involve ice water or apple seeds?