My baby doesn't wear socks...

Confidential to Jen: This post is not in response to your comment on the earlier post.


Here's the thing. I don't need people to tell me how to parent. I don't need strangers at Kroger to tell me that my child isn't wearing socks/a hat/pants/shoes.

I'm already aware.

I'm not sure anyone ever considers that I already know this. I'm not sure the mom who has two children under the age of three and is shopping next to me, comes up to my cart and says to Baby "Where are your socks?" in a baby talk voice (which Husband and I do not do in our house) is aware of the conversations I have with Baby:

Me: Baby, you've got to stop kicking your socks off in the car.
Baby: Gah.
Me: I'm serious. People in the grocery store will give me looks like I am an unfit mama if you kick your socks off.
Baby: Dadada.
Me (sighing): Dadada is at work. He's not here. I just told you that. But if he was here, he'd tell you to keep your socks on so people don't think I'm an unfit mama.
Baby: mamama. (shriek) Goo!

Or his coat. I know my child needs a coat. I also know he sweats profusely, especially when he falls asleep, so Husband and I are very discriminating about when he wears his fabulous coat. Sometimes the 35 seconds of cold he has to tolerate when he goes from the door to the car or the car to the door are preferable to the hour+ of discomfort that he will endure if he wears his coat.

When Baby was two months old, minus two days, Caroline came to visit. We went to Target so I could buy something to wear to my friend Jaimee's wedding. At the time, Baby thought Target was the crappiest place on earth and screamed every time we went. During this particular visit, Baby held up pretty well while Caroline and I did the world's fastest clothes shopping trip. He held up pretty well, that is, until we got to the register. The cashier was particularly slow that day, my guess is due to a hangover or something similar, and Baby started to fuss. We took turns holding him and rocking him. That seemed to make the situation worse. The elderly gentleman in front of us turned around and smiled. "You need to sing to him," he said. Caroline and I just looked at each other. "You need to sing Rock a Bye My Baby to him," the senior citizen continued. Again, Caroline and I looked at each other. Then we looked down at the ground, at Baby, and finally at the parenting instructor. "Go ahead," he encouraged, as Baby's volume steadily increased. Caroline and I gave each other wary looks and started mumbling "Rock a bye baby, in the tree tops..."
"No," the old man interrupted. "You have to do it like this," and belted out "ROCK A BYE MY BABY, WITH A DIXIE MELODY..." and I looked for a hole in the ground big enough for me, Caroline, and Baby to escape.

I try to tell myself that people do things like this because they love babies so much and want to make sure that babies are properly taken care of, but really it just comes across as them judging my parenting.

I know I'm not a perfect mama. I know my house is messy, and I work, a lot, and sometimes I don't feel like playing with Baby. Sometimes I'd rather read a book/take a shower/sleep than do my mama duties. But I put those desires aside and I do what is best for my child. I know my child better than anyone else in the world does, and I know when I need to feed him more or feed him less. I know when it's okay for him to be socksless or jacketless or have green beans on his face. I know when he needs to be cuddled and when he needs to cry it out a bit. I know the cries he makes that require immediate attention and the cries he makes that don't. I know these things because I am his mama. I have spent the last 18 months getting to know this child, and I know how to be the mama he needs.

When I first had Baby, I wasn't confident at all. When I was pregnant, I wasn't sure that I'd even love him. Husband can attest that I'm not a particularly nurturing or comforting presence, but I am with my child. And it took awhile, but I figured out how to be the parent I want to be, and more importantly how to be the parent he needs. I know all of this because I see how my child lights up when he sees me. I know this because I can put him down in his crib at 8 p.m., and it's unlikely that I will hear from him again until 6 a.m. I know all this because he's thriving. He's gaining weight, happy, and interested in everything. My child explores the world and learns as much as he possibly can. He is secure, and his needs are met. I have learned how to take care of him and will continue learning how to take care of him.

I don't tell other people how to parent/quit smoking/get sober/dress/break up with their significant other/stop their child from screaming/get off welfare. So, Random Stranger Who Clearly Knows How to Parent My Child Better than I Do, I'm already aware that "that baby ain't wearing no socks." I'm allowing it. When you spend 9 months vomiting because of this child and another 9 months getting vomited on because of this child, or when you get up with him in the middle of the night and hold him until he goes back to sleep-if he goes back to sleep-or when you make faces with him and dry his tears and make him baby food and get sick because of nursing, THEN you may tell me how to parent or question my abilities and decisions. Until then, your opinion is worthless to me.