Once upon a time, I held a rather black-and-white view of parents who opted for spanking. I categorized them into two groups: those who didn’t believe in God and those who used their faith to justify their actions. The non-religious spankers would often argue, “I turned out fine, didn’t I? My parents spanked me, and look how well I turned out!” I always thought to myself, “Sure, you’re fine—if being an arrogant child abuser is considered fine!” I would simply roll my eyes and walk away, thinking I was a far superior parent, ready to embrace logic and time-outs instead of corporal punishment.
Then there were the religious folks, who twisted scripture to support their views. They’d claim that God’s word commanded them to wield the rod of discipline, warning that without it, their kids would spiral into sinful behavior. I would often find myself mentally screaming, “Are you kidding me? A loving God wouldn’t endorse child abuse!” But I kept my thoughts to myself, too introverted to engage in confrontation.
Then, life threw me a curveball; I found out I was pregnant. Suddenly, my hormones transformed me into a woman who could no longer keep her thoughts under wraps. I was convinced that anything from a glass of wine to raw fish could harm my fetus. I was vocal about my parenting philosophies, especially to my sister-in-law, whom I affectionately nicknamed “Ms. Spank-a-lot.” I bombarded her with articles and texts about the dangers of spanking, thinking I was doing the right thing.
Fast forward to the arrival of my son. From day one, he was a colicky little guy. As he grew, his whining reached Olympic levels. Everything bothered him: the peas were too green, the cereal too cold, and his yogurt? Well, it just tasted like yogurt. Then came the phase where he was labeled “strong-willed.” Let’s be honest; that’s just a polite way of saying he was being a total brat, a trait he apparently inherited from me.
We tried everything: stern conversations when he misbehaved, time-outs when he refused to get in the car or screamed “NO!” at the mere thought of changing his shirt. Nothing worked. He laughed at our attempts, sticking his tongue out at us like a mini dictator. We praised him when he made good choices, only to watch him grin while pouring milk into my shoe—yes, you read that right. Natural consequences? Not even a blip on his radar.
Then came the day he slapped me in the face. In that moment, I discovered a new category of parents: those who resort to spanking out of sheer desperation, just like generations before them. All my carefully constructed beliefs about parenting vanished in an instant. I calmly turned him over, pulled down his pants, and delivered a firm smack on his little behind. I didn’t negotiate or plead. I simply stated, “You will not hit mommy. That is disrespectful. I am in charge, and you are not.”
He cried, big tears streaming down his face, clearly shocked by the unexpected consequence. I felt a pang of anxiety myself, but we snuggled afterward. I reassured him that I loved him, and within mere minutes, he was back to his usual self. I hadn’t crushed his spirit; rather, I had taught him a lesson. He’s still strong-willed, but now he thinks twice before acting out.
Now, I’ve come to realize that spanking doesn’t automatically make someone a child abuser. Many parents are just navigating the stormy seas of strong-willed children and maybe even a touch of desperation. If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination, you might want to check out this resource. For those considering starting a family, resources like this one are excellent. Additionally, this site provides valuable insights about fertility and pregnancy.
In conclusion, parenting is a wild ride, filled with unexpected twists and turns. While our beliefs may shift, what ultimately matters is finding the right balance that works for our families.