![]() I bribed my kids to do things with Smarties and Paw Patrol. Fast-forward a few years and as cool and in control as I had tried to be with my now four- and three-year-old daughters, I’d fallen into many of the bad habits I used to judge other parents for: I was a total pushover. Raising tiny, demanding people is a monumental amount of work, and trying to be calm when you’re running on three hours’ sleep and your baby will only nap on your body, or when your toddler has a meltdown because you “accidentally” flushed her poop down the toilet, can feel hopelessly overwhelming-no matter how adorable they are. For me, nothing about parenting was chill-in-an-earth-motherly-kind-of-way-and anyone who says it comes naturally or instinctively isn’t doing the rest of us any favours. All I had to do as her mother was love her and take care of her. She always knew what she wanted and how to get it. As a newborn, she was loud and shrieky-even our midwives were startled by the power of her pterodactyl-like cry. So, after my daughter was born, I was cautiously optimistic when I realized she was a very spirited and confident little person from the get-go. How was I supposed to mould my kid into a self-assured human when, at 36, I still felt lacking in many ways? I’ve always tried to embrace my “inner fullness” and spirituality, but after 18 years of yoga, a short stint studying Kabbalah (before Madonna made Jewish mysticism look cool), three therapists and a few failed attempts at daily meditation, I was just muddling through my soul-searching journey. When I was expecting my first child, I had a mini existential crisis about the kind of parent I was going to be.
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