the trouble with "them"

  I'm a know-it-all. I can't help it. Although I will admit that I don't know it all, I really would like to. I love researching. I love learning about...everything. Before I got married, I helped myself to an armload of books about all things marriage...and all it's benefits. Before I got pregnant, I became an expert on conception, pregnancy and EVERY warning sign of trouble. I read my parenting magazines cover to cover. I still read magazines, books, internet articles, blogs, and facebook statuses. I eavesdrop relentlessly and soak up every word of the webmd gospel truth. I still lament the fact that I never organized my time well enough in college to be able to audit several classes every semester-just so that I could "know".
  As a die-hard believer in "them" and as the (somewhat) obnoxious announcer of "you know what they say..." it pains me to find myself veering off of the "expert" prescribed course every four and a half minutes as a mother. However, I never could have imagined what a perfectly unique experience it is to care for a tiny person. I doubted that they had strong personalities and preferences from the time they first opened their little eyes, but I was wrong. Each of my babies needs me so differently. Charlie needs me in different ways than Stella does, and sometimes he needs me differently than he did yesterday, or ten minutes ago. Motherhood is a calling of constant evolution.
   My desire and responsibility to meet those changing demands on my motherhood puts me at constant odds with the security of living by the book. When I snuggle Charlie into my bed in the middle of the night, the words "guide them lovingly, but firmly back to their own bed" run frantic laps in my brain. But here's the thing: I don't actually mind (and sometimes downright love) his warm little body curled up next to me. And that boy wrapping his little arms around my neck and kissing my cheek to wake me up in the morning? Bliss.
   Stella is sixteen months old. She really doesn't need a bottle anymore. Sometimes in the night when I am so tired and she needs something to satisfy her growling tummy and lull her back to sleep, I give her a bottle. With a newborn nipple on it. And chocolate(!) milk inside. Then I beat myself up for not teaching her to "self-soothe" and ruining her teeth. But do you know what experts? I've tried everything else. Also, while we're at it, experts, she is so stubborn that if she doesn't get what she wants, she'll cry straight through the night. For hours. Night after night. What exactly is the point of that torment? And do you know what else? I think she'll be ok. Someday she'll just stop drinking a bottle and she'll still be a lovely and successful person despite her 3am bottle.
   I am finding that the "experts" have some good advice. I'm a sucker for proven research (you won't find any bumper pads on these cribs). But, sometimes their advice would require a superhuman parent or a robotic, script following child. Sometimes, I'm the expert. I know what these little ones of mine need. I know what words will elicit a tantrum and which will calm their troubles. Sometimes, I don't. Sometimes I raise my voice and sometimes I do EVERY SINGLE THING wrong, by the book. 
  All of the "rights and wrongs" aside, my babies are loved. They are adored. They are cherished.  I think they know that. All parents are imperfect. Few babies do what the books say "they are supposed" to. There isn't one right way to raise a child, and it pains me to say that. Parenting would be easier if there was only one best car seat one surefire way to comfort an inconsolable baby.
   Last week, I had an emotional day. I was impatient with my kids. I was all around cranky. I decided to take Charlie for some one on one time to the grocery store for popsicles he'd been promised, then off to pick up pizza for dinner (that was a gift to both of us). At the grocery store he opened a cake in the bakery and sampled the frosting, then opened a package of orange tic-tacs. So we bought popsicles, cake, and orange tic-tacs. Then we hustled our little selves across the parking lot and picked up some pizza too. I could have been the "good mom". I could have firmly taught about the healthy foods that our bodies need and refused to let him partake of the neon frosting on that cake. On a different day, I might have. But that day, a firm mama was not what our family needed. That night the King family ate Dominos pizza, chocolate cake and orange tic-tacs for dinner. I put them to bed without brushing their teeth, then they ate popsicles for breakfast the next morning. It was perfect. 
   It would go against my nature to stop studying the research. I wouldn't want to miss opportunities to improve life for my children. But there comes a point where the stress of "following the book" begins to take priority over soaking up this sweet life I've chosen, and I don't want that to happen. I don't want the guilt of "should haves" running through my mind. How can I be present with my family and for myself if I'm always focused on what other people think I should do?
  The best and hardest part of being a mom is that I get to be the one who knows these little ones. I get to be the one who watches and waits and tests theories. I get to tell them I love them and kiss their chubby cheeks. I try to decide which things will have lasting and eternal impacts on their lives and which (ice cream for breakfast) won't matter much at all someday. I am finding that most things work themselves out. The fact that I help Charlie get dressed, though he could do much of it himself, won't impede his development or make him a less able adult. We're all going to be ok.
   Heavenly Father trusted me to raise these special spirits-and it's not something I take lightly. But that's just it. He trusted me to do it. He blessed me with a sweet and wise husband to consult with and the blessing of being able to turn to him for help. After all, these are His children first.