I like to describe my parenting style in two words.
When I was pregnant a couple of summers ago, I sat at my aunt’s table talking to her about the kind of mom I wanted to be. I made lots of promises. Some I’ve kept (naming her after something significant and using cloth diapers), others I’ve realized are out of my control (sleeping through the night or making sure we made it to the library each week.)
I didn’t set out to be a granola-eating, mostly-vegetarian, attachment parent. It sort of happened accidentally.
We skipped rice cereal and baby food. The Girl just ate whatever we were having for dinner. She’s now a food snob and enjoys lunches of olives, polenta with roasted vegetables and won’t eat eggs unless they’re seasoned. Go figure.
We use cloth diapers and I grimace every time I have to buy a pack of disposables for daycare.
I shop at Farmer’s Markets and sign up for CSA programs.
I’m seriously considering homeschooling.
I breastfed for more than a year. Oh, and I used extra breastmilk to treat ear infections and conjunctivitis.
I’m slowly starting my collection of essential oils after attending a class to learn about treating headaches with peppermint instead of Tylenol, and anxiety with Frankincense instead of Lexapro.
And while I’m not ready to sew our clothes or give up bathing, I want other moms to know that it’s OK to only be “slightly-crunchy.” Parenting isn’t an all-or-nothing type of deal.
If you want to eat kale, go ahead, and don’t feel bad about the Ritz crackers or Pepperidge Farm cookies in the pantry.