A glimpse into my personal insanity

Once upon a time... not so long ago... kids were raised by their parents and family. Not by opinionated strangers. Not by interfering acquaintances. Not by offensive passersby. Not even by over-bearing, all-knowing, have-read-every-parenting-book-in-the-whole-world... ... well... you get the idea. Not too long ago I started to get offended by everybody that offered their... ahem... unsolicited advice. Mostly about Jerome, but some about my parenting. I've been called a "paranoid parent" by some... they've never seen me at the zoo or science centre with my boys... BE FREE! But I was called this because I was telling my boys to NOT scale a clunky old swing set that is teetering at the top of a hilled yard... oh yes... I'm paranoid.. .that they'll fall and break their skull in your YARD!! There's nothing wrong with my getting offended. Nothing wrong with feeling hurt by the other moms that decided I wasn't as good as they are. Nothing wrong

It's hard to understand why I am so sad. Unless you know what it's like to be in my shoes. And a few of you do. You actually do! Understanding and sympathizing are two different things. My son is small. I know this. I'm not blind. I might wear thick glasses, but I see everything. It has not escaped my vivid motherly attention that my son is tiny small short beyond perfect. But... something else that has not escaped? The fact that everyone else has an opinion about that. "Oh, he's so tiny!" "He's so short!" "How is going to keep up with others his age?" Huh... okay... And the other thing. He doesn't really talk yet. He's taking his time. Absorbing his world, trying to figure it out before he forms an opinion of it. Oh wait. I'm just the mom... what do the assholes peanut gallery have to say? Don't worry, there is NO shortage of opinions there. "He doesn't talk yet? That's shocking."