May 13 2008
Waffles
It may seem that I go back and forth a lot. That is because, like so many parents, I second guess myself all the time. I waffle so much, in fact, that some days I think my middle name should be ‘iron.’ But it is almost impossible to know if the decisions you make for your child are going to help them grow or if you’re inviting in Disaster and his girlfriend, Drama.
I was reading David Kirby’s Evidence of Harm recently, and I recall seeing, “Moms know.” Or maybe I read that in Kenneth Bock’s latest book. At any rate, no, they don’t. Moms don’t always know. Really, we rarely know. We think we know, we make some darned good educated guesses, often we follow our guts, and many times our guts are right on point. But they are not infallible. It they were, I would have married my first boyfriend and lived happily ever after.
We don’t know.
“Maybe Jane shouldn’t play with that strange little boy down the street who never seems to say anything.” That strange little boy later turns out to be a multi-millionaire by the time he graduates high school as valedictorian. He doesn’t say much in his speech either.
“Little Bobby will just love this new bike.” Sure until Little Bobby collides with a tree at the bottom of the driveway and breaks his arm in two places.
“Maybe the medication will actually work for little Gus.” Or maybe the Focalin will speed up his heart so much while suppressing his appetite that he’ll feel like hell. Or maybe the Strattera will overstress his liver. Who the hell knows when trying to decide whether or not to medicate an autistic child.
I waffle. I second guess. Sometimes I make bad decisions. But sometimes I get it right. I sincerely hope this is one of my right times.
