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My Story: How I Learned to Quit the Parenting Race

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Let’s be honest. How would you feel if you found out that your baby’s peers are hitting all the developmental milestones ahead of what the textbook says? Exactly that same sinking feeling knowing that someone’s 2-year-old is already speaking in sentences while you are barely making sense of the different sounds your child is making. And that thing about SCHOOL. From “When do you plan to send her to school?” to “Why not private school?” to “How can she cope without tuition?”. I’ll tell you what I’d feel: the need to compete and the urge to be one-step ahead. At least that was what I USED TO feel.

It all starts with the same excuse, whether it’s a race to become better, smarter, bigger, taller, faster, higher or just prettier — it’s all for my kid. You find yourself in a race where you are each other’s judge. From birth weight to birthday presents, you don’t see the finishing line. Heck, you aren’t even sure whether there’s a prize for the winner. But you sign up for the race nevertheless. You put your kids to race one another. You crack your whip, burn holes in your pockets to provide them with the best you could afford (or even beyond), you become the cheerleader, coach and well, exactly everything else you vowed you’d never be.

When I first had Doughnut, I decided, just like every new mother, to do the right things and do things right. No “going to school” at 2 and no enrichment classes at least until she reaches 5. But soon enough, I found myself browsing for flash cards because every one around me was already “flashing” to their babies. And then it was the alphabet. Numbers. Shapes. Colors. Animals. Nursery rhymes. The atlas. Jigsaw puzzles meant for older kids. iPad apps designed for pre-schoolers. The satisfaction of knowing that she can manage all this meant that she is ahead of her peers. That she could even be gifted.

And one day, she walked away after seeing me bringing out her supposedly favourite pictionary. “Mommy, baby no read book. Baby (wants to) play.” For the next week or so, she refused to sit down for her reading sessions. Or her motor skill activities. Then it suddenly dawned upon me: I HAVE BECOME THE “MONSTER MOMMY”! The one I used to frown upon, and the one I used to judge. I was already IN the race.

It was frustrating. But the frustrations soon turned into guilt. Guilt because I knew I’ve not kept my promise. Guilt because while supposedly preparing her, I was depriving her. And guilt because I knew Doughnut deserved nothing but the best. And the best didn’t mean that she had to be the fastest or smartest. As a matter of fact, she didn’t even have to be any faster or smarter than she already was.

Just when I thought I had her best interest in mind, she showed me that she knew exactly what she wanted. That she wanted to take the lead and I will soon learn to read the signs. That it was ok not to know the difference between a ‘country’ and a ‘continent’ but still enjoying play school because she got to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” while giggling silly with her friends. That she never wanted swimming lessons just because “Mommy never had the chance to learn swimming when she was your age”. That every cool toddler in town is doing yoga / Pilates / trampoline but her only love was monkey bars.

And so I stepped back. More precisely, I learned how to step back. It was a learning process and a humbling experience. I learned to acknowledge, respect and accept “No” as an answer. I constantly asked myself, would I want to have a parent like me? For her, I needed to know that it was something she wanted, not me. Not anyone else.

So, my 3-year-old taught me about parenthood. That it’s a journey, not a race. But so is childhood. You don’t need to enter the parenting race to get a prize. Because as parents, we already have THE prize.

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Lai San is an ex-marketer living in Jakarta but her heart has never left KL. Mother to 3 years old Doughnut, she is close to total cure of her OCD with a toddler to clean up after at home. When not stuck in a jam, she writes freelance as a cover up for her total inability to cook, bake or sew.

Image Credit: What The Flicka?