Lying on the double bed, my 2 ½-year-old is whining again, and the only thing that’ll calm him down is nursing. If I don’t, he’ll erupt into a full-blown scream, which will definitely wake up his older brothers, ages 4 and 6, who are crammed onto the side-carred single bed. They’re nestled against my husband like little barnacles. Sometimes, each of them wants to claim an outstretched arm, and my husband ends up trying to get some sleep while contorted into strange positions all night. Other times, the baby won’t stop nursing and grabs at me, and I find myself torn between wanting to drift off into a half-sleep or wishing he would just wake up already.
Had we put them in cribs when they were infants, I doubt I’d be dealing with any of this chaos. We could have tucked them in by 8 p.m., and they would stay in their own beds, peacefully, throughout the night. We’d have our own space to sleep—sounds like a dream come true. While I stand by our choice and believe it was right for us, I can’t help but sometimes wish things were different.
There are other parenting choices I find myself questioning too. Take extended breastfeeding—my 4-year-old thinks he’s still nursing. When he gets upset, he flings himself at my chest, wailing “Mama milk!” I tell him no, and the crying escalates. My 2 ½-year-old follows the same pattern, sidling up and asking for milk. I respond with “not now,” and the toddler tantrum begins. Just this morning, he screamed for half an hour because I wouldn’t nurse him. I almost gave in, but I knew if I did, it would set a precedent. So there I was, holding a naked, sobbing toddler while my oldest tried to read in peace.
I could have weaned them all around 18 months, and none of this drama would be happening. They’d be long past the desire for milk. Even though I cherish nursing as a way to soothe them when they’re hurt or upset, sometimes it feels like such a hassle. I don’t even wear nursing-friendly clothes anymore, which means I’m constantly in awkward situations when I breastfeed in public.
Then there’s my decision to avoid strollers. I lovingly swaddled my babies, carrying them on my back or cuddling them in front. I had a collection of wraps for them to choose from, and I even taught babywearing. But once they got too big to be wrapped, they refused to ride in the stroller. At 2, they insisted on walking through Target, thinking they were too cool for the cart. If I had just used the stroller more often, they might have been accustomed to it. I loved every moment of wrapping them, and I still attempt to wrap my youngest when they allow it. But it would sure be nice if they could just ride in the cart sometimes.
And then there’s homeschooling. Some mornings, we breeze through reading, math, and science with my oldest. We genuinely enjoy it. Other mornings, however, turn into chaos—the oldest gets frustrated with reading, while the little ones are busy making a mess. There are moments when the baby is screaming in my lap while the preschooler climbs the furniture, and I can see my oldest’s frustration boiling. I love homeschooling, but some days, I think about enrolling them all in a traditional school. Sure, I’d have to deal with carpool lines, but I could enjoy three glorious hours of freedom to clean, write, or even get a haircut.
Another thought I grapple with is the idea of spanking. There, I said it. We made a firm decision not to spank, believing that violence doesn’t teach anything constructive. We’ve read the studies that show it can be more harmful than helpful. Instead, we focus on consequences and understanding behavior. But when one of them jumps off the kitchen table onto plastic storage bins, I sometimes wish I could just give them a little smack for acting so recklessly. I know spanking won’t help during a tantrum, but sometimes it feels like it would provide some immediate satisfaction. Is that terrible? Absolutely. I’d never actually do it, but those feelings creep in occasionally.
We all have our parenting regrets—maybe not regrets, but alternate dreams. It’s easy to think that life would be easier on the other side. But we all make the best choices for our children based on what we believe works for them. And every now and then, we wish things were different. And that’s perfectly okay.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Emma Anderson shares her parenting regrets and the challenges of navigating motherhood. From the struggles of extended breastfeeding to the decision against using strollers, she candidly discusses the complexities of homeschooling and the occasional thoughts of spanking. Ultimately, she acknowledges that while they make the best choices for their children, it’s natural to sometimes wish for a different path.