By: Jamie Collins
The only people who can truly claim to have perfectly behaved children are those who haven’t ventured into parenthood. You can spot them easily—no dried yogurt stains on their pants and definitely no little ones nearby sticking boogers in their hair while they fiddle with a shopping cart strap.
Before I became a parent, I had all the answers when it came to raising kids. Here’s a look at my “expert predictions” versus the reality I’ve encountered:
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My kids will never act out in public.
When I said “act out,” I meant throwing epic tantrums that sound like they’re being chased by a pack of wild animals through the cereal aisle. In those moments, I take a deep breath and scan the crowd, hoping to find someone who might take credit for these little tornadoes. I even find myself whispering to bystanders, “I’m just the babysitter.” Meanwhile, I can’t help but admire their impressive thrashing skills that defy logic!
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I will never leave the house looking like that.
Oh, but here we are! I swear I don’t care about my appearance—most days I genuinely forget to brush my hair or even my teeth! But fear not, I’ve never left without pants. You’re welcome, world.
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My kids won’t eat junk food.
My toddlers are picky eaters, making it a small victory when they choose something other than stickers or crayons. If they opt for chicken nuggets over veggies, I’m practically throwing a parade. And yes, I sneak in gummy vitamins daily to ease my mom guilt.
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My home will never resemble a toy factory explosion.
Currently, my living room looks like a Build-A-Bear Workshop had a meltdown. Toys and clothes are strewn about like confetti. Cleaning while kids are awake? It’s like trying to clean up a smoothie disaster with a blender still running. The only way my house will ever be spotless is if it magically combusts.
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I will never be late.
The moment I need to leave the house on time, my kids move slower than molasses. They’ll zoom around like they’re on a sugar high until it’s time to get ready. Once I call for them, time suddenly reverses, and I find myself stuck in negative time—trying to wrestle coats onto squirming bodies who would rather wear shoes on their heads.
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I will never negotiate with my kids.
Ah, negotiation! It’s a fancy term for getting my way. If little Emma wants dessert, she must eat three chicken nuggets first. It’s like running a business; there are incentives involved. Okay, maybe it’s more like bribery, but you get the idea.
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I will not let them watch TV.
During harsh winters, when cabin fever sets in, the TV becomes a lifesaver—a magical box that grants me at least 15 minutes of peaceful silence. It’s either that or I’m banging my head against the wall in solitude.
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I won’t get annoyed by my kids.
Sometimes, I play a game of hide and seek that I keep a secret. I hide in places a 3-year-old would never think to look, like the laundry basket, and enjoy a candy break.
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I won’t let my kids stop me from traveling.
Going to the grocery store now feels like preparing for a cross-country expedition. If early American settlers had toddlers, they’d barely make it past the first toy left behind. We do travel with the kids now, but let’s just say I’m still processing those adventures in therapy.
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My kids will listen to me.
I genuinely believe kids don’t come with the ability to listen. They can hear me, sure, but listening? Not a chance. It’s only when I reach full auctioneer mode—shouting at 115 decibels—that they finally tune in. By that point, I feel like I’ve sold a whole farm at a county fair.
Becoming a parent is the ultimate humbling experience. There’s no other challenge quite like it that tests your character, patience, and resilience—well, unless you’ve survived an Alaskan winter while being chased by a pack of hungry wolves. Hopefully, those wolves were more concerned with their own boogers.
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In summary, parenting is filled with unpredictable moments that challenge our pre-conceived notions. From tantrums in public to negotiating over dinner, the journey is nothing short of chaotic yet rewarding.