Yesterday I took S. to his first dentist’s appointment. He did far better than I was fearing, much to my anxious relief. The dentist did say, however, that the white build up around his gums, (which first prompted me to want to get him in), was early onset decay most likely caused from being sent to bed with a bottle when he was younger.
What the dentist actually said was, “Did he ever get sent to bed with a bottle?”
What I said was, “Not with ME. He’s only been with us since February.”
What I wanted to say was, “Are you kidding me with this? Last night for dinner we had asparagus, edamame, and artichoke heart salad. CLEARLY I am not an incapable mom.”
But herein lies the danger of fostering a child for someone who is unable to raise him herself. You judge. A lot. All the time in fact. At least, you try to fight the urge to incessantly judge. You subconsciously pit yourself against her. A pacifier at this age?! Kool-aid in a sippy cup?! Not feeding him locally grown asparagus or organic milk or non-GMO cereals?!!! You judge based on YOUR idea of what is right and true.
If I’m being honest, I truly believe that my way is better. But, right or wrong, judging gets you nowhere. It isn’t my place, doesn’t make a difference, and will just make the knife twist more in the event that he returns to his biological mom.
She loves him. I love him. Nothing is in my hands other than what I can do right now. So you read. You get dirty- a lot. You eat food from the farmer’s market and bake banana pancakes made with wheat flour once a week. And you give grace to those whom you don’t have the right to place blame on because you haven’t walked even a foot in their shoes. You love because He first loved us and you try your damnedest not to roll your eyes at parenting choices. And then you go for a hike because right NOW, you get to call the shots and you’re making the best of it.