Titles

It is no secret to anyone that I know (or have ever met) that I am hopelessly lost in the sea that is Babycenter. I'm absorbed in its day to day drama and monotony and it has a vice-like grip on me. There is something about women readily armed with their Google M.D. that intrigues and amuses me in ways I cannot fully express. The quick turn of a simple product thread into a debate on child welfare is baffling. "My baby loves his Bumbo" can easily become "This mother is a child- endangering hate monger with a taste for infant blood!". It practically makes me giddy just typing about it.

An obvious badge of honor on said website is the "abc's of parenting" in people's signatures. "APing, EBFing, CDing, LMNOPing mommy" sums up the entire being of each mommy. It took me eons to decode and decipher what each woman is about and I often find myself shoring myself up to see where I fit. What is my title? What letters define me? Do I need to XYZ? Would my child be better if I HSLSAN (Home School Little Socially Awkward Nerds)? So, as my inaugural sail into the new blog world, I'm going on a spiritual quest. What kind of mom am I?

I'm not crunchy. Crunchy is a measure of how much of a granola head you are. I am not a granola head, therefore... no crunch. I do own a sling, but a baby wearer I am not. I "wore" that baby for 38 weeks. Enough already. I bought this house complete with floor so as to put baby on it. I am no baby wearer. I am also not organic. I do allow dirt eating, and in a sense that is organic, but I don't pay $40 for a head of cabbage. I don't recycle toilet paper. I bathe. I nurse my child, but not for 8 years. I make babyfood... because I'm insanely cheap-er, frugal! I cloth diaper, but not religiously. To religiously cloth diaper is against my religion. I am a realist. I really need disposable diapers sometimes.

I'm not a "child-led" parent. If I were, I'd eat nothing but Tyson chicken nuggets and tootsie rolls. I'd never sleep, never sit on a potty, and live in a sea of toys. I'd watch nothing but Yo Gabba Gabba and Peter Pan, and my idea of literature would be provided by those lovely intellectual giants at Usborne Books. If I was ruled (ha! I may be fooling myself with this one!) by my toddler, life would collapse around me!

I'm not the easy going, "it worked for me", "cool" parent. I would not describe me as laid back. I freak about germs to no end! I want my kids to "behave" in whatever degree is possible. I want them to be "productive, contributing members of society" with "no rap sheet" and "no inclination towards violence". There will be no "Go ahead Bucky! Stick that El Camino key in the light socket! You'll only do it once!" for me! My child is not a "once" kind of a kid.

So, for me, I've coined a new term... I'm 'crispy'. Middle of the road on most fronts, and I veer to the left and right accordingly (or depending on the fill line on my box o' wine). I do whatever it takes to get me through the day with kids in one or two pieces. Paper plates are my friend. Pacifiers are as much, or more, for me as they are for my kids. I heart naptime. I eat fruit snacks. I tivo Caillou. I'm the ritz cracker of moms; fine on my own, but better with a bit of embellishment! I'm crispy.