I was never really a baby person.  Growing up, I was never one of those kids in school who loved to embrace younger kids and play with them at recess.  There was no giggling with my friends in the 5th grade and pointing when we saw 1st graders with their lunch boxes.  I smiled but was never squealing, “Oh my gosh.  LOOK!  They are SO cute!”  I just thought I was cute.

As a teenager and at my mother’s urging, I babysat from time to time.  I was a good babysitter.  No TV.  No junk food.  Lots of playing and chatting.  However, my skills had more to do with the fact I was deathly afraid of the parents coming home and finding me oblivious – head in the refrigerator, fudgesicle in my mouth – and their kid braiding electrical wires together in the living room.

Now, I’m the parent coming home and I’m not the babysitter.  I’m the mother.  Nearly 7 months in training and, still, can’t believe some mornings that the AHHHWAHHHGOOOO sound coming 8 feet from my bedroom door is coming from a baby who actually belongs to me.  My mornings are still foggy like that.

That being said, I’m ALL about MY kid.  I worship the ground he rolls on.  I wish there was a candy flavored after him, or a donut, that I can eat because he looks so adorably scrumptious.  But just because I wish there was a donut called Isaiah, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m a child fanatic.

I’m learning that old misconceptions crumble in the wind.  I thought that since I was never a baby fanatic that I wouldn’t turn out to be a good mother.  WRONG.  Mothers come in all different kinds of styles, colors, sizes, schools of thought, and background.  There is no spectrum measuring parenting skills, except for the hierarchy I have created in my head that I measure myself against.  Such practices that compare yourself to other people, by the way, usually send your parenting-esteem straight to the toilet.  I don’t recommend comparisons at all.  In fact, I think that unless it is semantics and verbal debate, the practice of comparing anything or anyone should be outlawed.  We are all so full of imperfections and flaws that make us uniquely individualized.

I’m learning to use Isaiah’s development and overall smile frequency as my barometer. I’m learning to measure the health of my parenthood by assessing not only the welfare of my child, but also the joy factor in my own life, the carefree laughter resonating in my marriage, and the ability to find moments where I write a poem or two about getting caught in the summer rain.  Without tools that help me stay sane, parenthood becomes a voided practice of chores and tasks, not relationship building.  Isaiah needs a mother who is calm, inspired, and energized.  The frazzled and often morose mother who counts the sacrifices is a useless, outdated model.

That being said, I’m still not a baby person.  Because of my growing Gerber prince, my knowledge of babies and children has exponentially grown, skyrocketted even, to the moon.  And I’m finding that I don’t need to be a baby person to be a wonderful mom to my own son.  I’m learning that listening to the unmet expectations, the little whispers in my head that repeat devilish little quips about my self-doubts, do not provide anything beneficial to me or Isaiah.  As a new mother, I have to sharpen my ears and be a voice snob;  there’s only a handful I should listen to.

It’s time to ditch the unrealistic images of motherhood and welcome fresh versions of ourselves as we transition into new roles as mothers.  It’s time to learn how to say YES to the things that we truly need and love while saying NO to the excessive, the impulses, to the drive that pushes us to make more money, acquire more THINGS, and act more as corporate parents than loving, free thinking ones.

It’s time for outreaching to form communities and build trust in neighbors again.  The nuclear family unit is destined for isolation without the assistance and hands of the village.  No aprons, no heels.  Or maybe just an apron in heels.  No shoulds.  Close the gender gap in the distribution of domestic responsibilities.  Reorganize your schedule, not your priorities.  The grassroots of motherhood are often secrets that are exchanged at the ground level, not on TV or in big media, and it will not tell you the thing you need to hear most:  The most critical voice in the mix that takes the most time to find, use, and shape is your own.