Consider this a warning to all ya attachment parents, I was the woman on the cover of Time, in her skinny jeans, pert breast popping out of her tank top, future linebacker nursing on that pert breast… okay, I was never nearly as cute, but I nursed one kid until she was two and hiding cookies in the couch to go with her breast milk.
Folks, back in the day, I was practicing don’t let ‘em cry themselves to sleep and don’t yell, talk stuff. I was down with the attachment doctrine. Hell, I coulda written the manifesto. I did not however, ever look as refreshed as the woman on the cover of Time– maybe she has cleaning woman or a trainer.
Not all my friends participated in the codling attachment parenting I practiced. In fact, most of them were productive members of society while I shuffled around in my slippers refilling sippy cups. They went to work. Outside the house. They were and are doctors, lawyers and teachers. I was busy being attached. Very, very attached. I baked tofu casseroles and read labels for added sugar. Bought milk without added hormones. I worried over timing of vaccines and volunteered in my children’s classrooms.
My friends, the ones who didn’t stay home sh-lumping around in their slippers? They are not wondering what they will do when their children grow up. I am. The other day, my wise friend Andrea (who performs surgeries and saves lives before meeting me for a walk) commented that my children are separating from me, maybe I should too, from them? She was just being nice. She really meant: Your kids are big. Unplug, detach from them, get a life.
This phase is all about letting my teens cry it out, fail, make a choice I don’t agree with. Detachment. I spend time reminding myself that I can not micromanage my teenager’s lives. In fact, I never did. Could attachment parenting really be controlling parenting disguised as a philosophy? Being attached sounds kid-centric and cool. But really, only an emotional control freak could buy total attachment parenting. Hmmmm, that’d be me…yikes. Even when I was monitoring what they ate and if they’d pooped, I really wasn’t in control. One more warning: We are all slipping forward in the same instant we connect, making attachment an illusion.