I have been meaning to write something about Attachment Parenting ever since I mentioned it a little while back. I heard from a few different people who wanted to know whether or not it’s a parenting philosophy my family still uses.
Well, the answer is no. That’s not because it’s a bad thing, though. It’s simply because I have come to employ a different parenting philosophy in its place. My own. This one is called Do What Works Best for Your Family.
I find it amusing that there are so many different parenting “experts” out there who don’t hesitate to tell other parents that their particular philosophy is the one right way to raise children–or at least imply it. And it’s not just Attachment Parenting. In some groups I’ve been associated with, parenting philosophy feels almost like a pseudo-religion. The implication is: following these particular rules will make you a good mother. In fact, they imply it so effectively, that many mothers (and I have been one of them) suffer from feelings of guilt and failure when things don’t go as swimmingly as the books tell them they should.
Well, I already have a religion, thank you.
There are so many wonderfully different kinds of families with different circumstances. There are so many wonderfully different kinds of children with different temperaments and needs. There are so many wonderfully different kinds of mothers with different personalities, strengths, and weaknesses. For some women, baby-wearing and co-sleeping feel wonderfully natural. Others might struggle with backaches and sleep problems that make them miserable mommies.
Do What Works Best for Your Family. That might mean exclusively breastfeeding or it might mean using a pacifier and an infant swing. You know yourself and your children better than any author of any book ever could. You are the expert on the best approach for your family at any given time. Use that expertise.
I’ve been employing the Do What’s Best for Your Family philosophy for many happy guilt-free years now. In fact, as Baby Raphael coos and drools in my lap as I type this, this much is apparent: He doesn’t care what we call it. I’m his mommy. He’s my baby. And we are happy that way.