(barely) Surviving Extreme Parenting

I'm going to be honest. We're all friends here, right? (Just nod.) RIGHT. Well, I have a confession for you. It pains me to admit this to myself, much less The Internet, but here goes:

My 2-year-old hasn't mastered complex geometric equations. She's never once translated The Iliad from its original Homeric Greek into English (or any other language for that matter). In fact, when I gave her a copy of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, she gnawed on the book, rather than absorbing the knowledge within.

This is so not okay.

My baby is supposed to be a genius, dammit, and how can she be a genius if she can't even drive a car yet? It's clear my baby is defective.

I fail at Extreme Parenting. And life.


I was fortunate enough to have my firstborn at an age when no one else I knew had children; otherwise, I might have started to take it a little to heart once my friends started popping out babies of their own. Much SUPERIOR babies, I should add.

It seems to start with conception, this Extreme Parenting phenomenon. If you get pregnant your first month of trying, it's clear that you're superior to me, who took months to get pregnant with her second. If my baby weighs 8 pounds at birth, well, yours was 20 pounds at birth. If my baby eats solid food, your baby solves the Fibonacci sequence before naptime. If my baby walks at 10 months, your baby can play a round of Master's Golf UNDER PAR.

It's clear that my babies aren't as good as yours.

(I mean the GENERAL "yours," not YOU personally, The Internet, who is brilliant, wise, and non-judgemental.)

It's a good thing I love them, flaws and all, because otherwise, I might be upset that I have substandard children.


I mean, how could they have possibly become Baby Genuii with such a waste of space for a mother? If I'd really loved them, I'd have spent more time teaching them all that I know about organic and biochemistry, instead of "napping when they nap." We all know that's just laziness on my end.

So I hope that my children will one day forgive me that I haven't gotten them admitted to MENSA yet. I hope that they'll forgive that I allowed them to chew on spatulas and measuring cups instead of those nifty wooden toys. I hope they'll forgive me for feeding them non-organic baby food when I should have been growing my own vegetables and lovingly chopping them up by hand.

All that time I should have spent stimulating their brains so they could become as brilliant as possible, I was simply trying to survive. And I did.


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