"Crunchy Granola" parents: please consider me "Cheerio's"

My daughter is a tall, healthy, beautiful girl of seven.  She’s within her ideal weight range, and she’s tall for her age (thanks to her father’s genetic code – definitely not mine!)  My daughter, let’s call her “A”, was a charming baby full of energy and with enough independence and fearlessness to instill in me a sense of watchful responsibility over her from early on.  A family member once joked to me that children’s jobs are to try to off themselves as frequently and creatively as possible; the parents’ jobs are primarily to prevent them from success.  “A” held up her head most of the time as a newborn (which I was both proud and fearful over.  After all, isn’t her head supposed to loll off if she does that?  I was so overly cautious with her!) She was determined to stand while you held her from just a few months after birth.  By nine months old “A” was pulling herself up on the sofa and then tentatively tottering over the few steps to the fish tank on her own.  At ten months old “A” would exclaim “fissy!” when she reached the fish tank.  Like most enthralled and diligent mothers, I recorded each vocabulary event in her baby book.  I logged in over 100 words she could say by her first birthday.  Two months later the list was up to over 250 and I stopped recording the seemingly daily expanding vocabulary which erupted from her cute little mouth.  By the time she was fifteen months she was speaking in short sentences.  At sixteen months she could tell you all the basic colors, and could enthusiastically sing you the entire alphabet song.  A year and a half old, and “A” knew each letter by sight and most numbers up to ten as well (for some reason three’s and seven’s would sometimes mix around.  The child’s mind is a fascinating thing!)

If you’ve gotten this far in my pointless seeming litany of baby triumphs for my precious “A”, let me let you in on the big dark secret this story is hiding.  I didn’t breastfeed “A”.   Not even once.  I didn’t have a medical condition which prevented me.  I didn’t pump and feed her breast milk via glass bottles with organic toxin-free nipples.  “A” started her life on regular formula, two months later was shifted to soy formula to combat loose stools and gas, and never had a problem on it afterwards.


 I double spaced between these paragraphs so that the rage-fire of some granola mommies can really have time to kick into gear.  What I chose to do, to some, is tantamount to declaring publicly that I’m a bad mommy who doesn’t love her child.  Already some minds are spinning up factoids, studies and attachment parenting references in which to fire at me due to my clear lack of knowledge on the subject.  First, let me say that I’m informed on the subject quite well.  Second, I’m genuinely sorry that mothers act this way towards each other.  It’s most especially cruel since most often the mothers who are most outspoken and zealous about their way of parenting are the ones who take time and consideration into raising their children.  In short, these are the women whose basic outlook would identify with my own.

See, I had reasons of my own for not breastfeeding.  I also had reasons of my own to sleep-train my child at 3 months to sleep in her own bed in her own room.  (I never shared a bed with my infant as any sort of plan.)   I had reasons I didn’t carry her in a sling (I did try that Baby Bjorn front/backpack thing a few times, and it was awkward for me and “A”.)  I had reasons I used disposable diapers (sorry landfills) and disposable wet wipes and fed my baby those puffy Gerber snacks when she was old enough to masticate them. These reasons are mine alone, and as a mother I reserve the right to act as I see according to my reasons and beliefs.

These are the issues which some crunchy granola mothers take to reckoning when evaluating me on my “mother-worthiness”.  I had one mother, in fact, who flat out told me I shouldn’t pretend to care about my child’s best interests when obviously I didn’t care at all since I didn’t breastfeed.  Another mother told me I was poisoning my child when I gave her some Skittles after a doctor’s appointment.  And yet another parent told me I was heartless when she found out that I let my wonderful little “A” cry herself to sleep at 10 months old as part of her sleep-training (trust me, that one wasn’t easy on me at all.)

The point which I’m trying to make here is this; in light of the rise in prominence of “natural” parenting, some women have started focusing on completely the wrong things (in my opinion.)

Just because my parenting techniques differ, and my parenting philosophy doesn’t match someone else's – shouldn’t the evaluating factors really be more about what sort of care we give a child and what sort of person we (as parents) are putting forth in the world?

To dispel some of the myths which, in my experience, are not true regarding a mother who doesn’t breastfeed, please bear in mind:


1.  My daughter and I are, and always have been, extremely attached to one another.  We share a very bonded relationship.   Choosing not to breastfeed hasn’t harmed our relationship in any way.
I’d wager that the studies in which this idea was gleaned from didn’t take into account that for some mothers not breastfeeding equates to less time spent with the baby.  From the moment “A” was born I couldn’t stop touching her soft cheeks, looking into her eyes, talking with her, playing with her, teaching her, hugging her, and smelling her head for that wonderful baby smell.  I’d garner that all the physical and emotional contact I had with her would more than account for why we are so close to one another.

2.  My daughter is at the head of her class, top 10% of her grade level on state and national levels, and reads almost two full grade equivalencies ahead of her classmates.  My choices in her nutritional upbringing had no negative impact on her mental abilities.  My bet is that because I worked with her, played with her, talked with her, showed her the alphabet, delighted in her learning, strove to teach her anything and everything she could absorb - - well, I’d bet that had something to do with it.

3.  “A” was a very healthy baby.  Between birth and one year, “A” had one bad cold, and one illness with fever.  She’s had a total of 4 ear infections in her entire life.  She’s healthy, happy, and looks forward to doctor and dentist appointments.  She does have a very slight far-sighted issue, which is most likely from the same genetics which gave her those long tall legs, rather than a nutritional deficiency.

4.  “A” is a well behaved child; well, as well behaved as an intelligent seven year-old can be.  Let’s just say she isn’t the child running amuck in the department store.  She’s not the child talking loudly in the booth behind you.  She’s still holds my hand when we cross the street.  She says “please” and “thank you” and needs fewer reminders of these things every day.  Good manners were important to me as a person, and therefore as a parent.  My choices in how she ate, slept, and were carried didn’t factor into personality disorders or rude behavior.  I’ve been told my household is “calm” and “quiet”.  I’d like to think it is.  And then, sometimes, you have a fifty pound seven year old barreling at you while yelling like a Scottish renegade.  This, I think, is entirely normal.

I’m sure there’s more I could refer to, but I’m pretty sure this is going to be long-winded enough without citing other examples of my daughter’s bright personality and possibility.   Basically, to me, this all boils down to one true thing:

Good parents shouldn’t cat-fight each other because we don’t share the same parenting doctrine.

Parenting choices aren’t supposed to be about being superior, being the infamous and elusive “best parent”, nor about kicking out at others’ choices in order to ease the anxiety of your own decisions.  In the same way that it’s not about buying that $4,000 crib; it’s not about being superior or elitist about the parenting issues which you believe in. 

Parenting is about doing the best for your child.  “The best” is subjective.  Some days my “best” is a morning play date, followed by a bike ride, followed by a healthy picnic lunch, and concluding with reading four chapters out of Harry Potter to my darling “A”.  Other days, my best is trying to get some house cleaning done while she alternately plays upstairs or watches Netflix.  The main ingredient to good parenting is caring.  You care enough to try to be your best.  You care enough inform yourself of how to better your child.  And you care enough to hold that child every day and tell them how much you love them.

So, I’m asking all of you this – no matter what your personal parenting doctrine is.  If you see a healthy, smart, happy child and can only think about what you’d be doing differently – keep your mouth closed, and smile at the parent who is getting it right by chance or plan.  Truth is, we could all use a little more support for our decisions (even if it’s only support by omission.)