Before I became a parent, I was going to be the perfect parent. But alas, like so many other situations, I learned that my perception vs. reality is comparable to Lindsay Lohan’s… shit doesn’t add up.
Slightly less cocaine involved. Whenever I was casting self-righteous judgment from my childfree cannon of wisdom, my best friend used to look at me and say, “I can’t wait until you’re a mom.” Revenge is sweet, isn’t it.
I was a judgy little b. I went around waxing poetic about screens and the fundamental breakdown of “real play” in our culture. At the restaurant I work at, I scoffed at children who would only eat macaroni and cheese.
Parents who would order a deconstructed chicken sandwich and proceed to let their kids run around like it was a McDonald’s play place and not a whiskey bar. I’ve come close to dropping a few hot plates on a toddler in my day, and I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t want it to happen. School of hard knocks if you will.
Now that I am a parent, I realize that I was an idiot and I know nothing about anything whatsoever. With each passing day, I participate in some sort of behavior that I said I would never do. Ticking them off like it’s a bucket list for bad parents.