I know reverse racism isn’t a thing, that phrase makes my skin crawl with all the implications of privilege it connotes, sitting there egging me on with its pretend realness. But I believe reverse mommy wars are real, and every time I lower my eyes and mutter, “they do get to watch TV on Saturdays, I’m not totally weird”, I feel like a victim.
Sometimes I get really excited and start talking too much, I just get into my head and think the parent in arm length is enjoying my explanation of how to make vegan sugar-free cookies with four simple ingredients, then I look up and quickly throw in something like, “but I do let them eat candy on Tuesdays, It’s not like I torture them.”
Four times in the last two months I have had someone tell me that I must have perfect kids, that my choices would never work in their household. It makes me really shouty, actually. First of all, watching me parent is not an invitation to explain why your choices are different from mine. Your choices are different because they are yours and they work for your family. Period. Who cares why? I want nothing more than to hug every parent I see that is trying and tell them that they are amazing and wonderful and selfless. I’ve never learned how to be a perfect parent; I am not a perfect parent. I have just learned how to like my choices. Now if I could outgrow my proclivity for self-deprecation I would be on to something.