A few days ago, I was talking to Emily about parents I know and some I have read about. I mentioned how many of the dads are corrected by the mothers and are often told they aren’t doing things properly. I then attempted to compliment Emily by mentioning how she never stops me from what I’m doing with Everett or constantly trying to fix how I’m doing things.
Emily’s simple response, “Because you’re trained.”
Now, I remember taking Summit to dog training, and we were told over and over again that it really was owner training. But I seem to have completely wiped out any memory of daddy training.
I am pretty sure my current parenting style isn’t one that needs any rigorous classes and drills.
Diaper changing doesn’t need any instruction manuals, and I never believed diapers worked best as a comfy hat.
When it is feeding time, I don’t think the best way is to put him on one end of the room while I tossed bits of carrot towards his mouth. Though now that I think about it, that would be fun for both of us (must make note the next time mommy is away).
I never believed the best form of bathing was to fully submerge Everett in the water and then count to 100.
No one needs to tell me that chess is a poor way to play with my son.
Are there things that I did need help with? Sure. Some of his onesies and pajamas really need to come with a map of where the buttons should be snapped. But for the most part, I just focus on my son’s needs and providing for him the best that I can.
Apparently, this now means I’ve been trained.
The joke is actually on my lovely wife. I do give her credit for not breathing down my neck while I change Everett or feed him. There are several times throughout the week that she will leave me alone with Everett. So she actually rarely sees how I take care of Everett, and probably is just trusting that I’m doing it the Emily way.
Psst. . . I’m not. She obviously never discovered this fact.
She comes home to a clean, fed, happy and bruise-free baby, and assumes this was accomplished by the Emily style of parenting. Nope, my son survived using the Christopher brand.
It really doesn’t matter what methods you use, as long as your baby is happy, healthy, and safe. I’ve been lucky that I am often home, and so I’ve been able to bond with my son in a special way. I look forward to my time with him, and looking after him is almost always a pleasure.
Or I’ve been deluded these past nine months, and Emily has secretly brainwashed me into thinking I have my own style.