I'm there so often, I actually recognize many of the store clerks, which leads to an awkward rapport of sorts between us. Rapport in the South usually means you engage in a bit of small talk about the weather, work, or a certain item you're purchasing. Topics can range from exchanging jokes about how crowded the store is to the escalating price of hummus to commenting on the brightness of said mega-mart's new rainbow-hued walls. As I'm towing Max along with me most days, this leads to a lot of questions about my little mister. A lot of people tell me he's cute (yep), or remark he must look like his father (it's the eyes). But most of all, people tend to ask me questions, which they then like to follow up with an anecdote about their own child and unsolicited advice about aforementioned eating/sleeping/crying tendencies.
This is not anything new. For whatever reason, I've spent a lot of my time here on earth talking shop about religion, cash registers, sunscreen, you name it to baristas, mechanics, and everyone in between. Perhaps my face says, "Talk to me. I want to know your story," or maybe I just look really bored. This trait always helped me interview people as a journalist and I've been fortunate to hear some awesome stories from the people I encounter each day. But as the parent of a 15-month-old, I've entered a new territory, one that involves other parents grossly exaggerating their children's capabilities.
I know, I know. We all exaggerate, especially when we feel there's a chance that our minor fibbing can gain us a competitive edge over someone else. This seems to be really prevalent when it comes to dogs, pet birds, and children. (Sorry cats, no one thinks you can do anything but lay around and be selfish.) I've heard of dogs who can bark the alphabet backward, and birds who can sing their owner's favorite TV theme song. Impressive, no? But the ante seems to be upped a bit when it comes to children. As a teacher, I saw this all of the time. Some parent would purport their child the next Joan Didion when the kid was doing little more than churning out blase essays about how awesome vampire love must be. (The reach of "Twilight" is unreal, people.) Yet somehow exaggerating your child's temperament, sleeping abilities, and eating habits to another parent -- particularly, a sleep-deprived, desperate for-a-scream-free-day parent -- is just downright icky. Lately, I've been hearing tales of infant wunderkinds who sleep like 15-year-olds, love to eat organic kale, and selflessly donate their rattles to Make-a-Wish Foundation fundraisers. Okay, that last one I made up. But I've got to say, there is little in life that is more disheartening than thinking your sweet little child is perhaps behind the curve. And if you listen to and believe much of this puffery, you're going to feel that way.
For the most part, I don't believe people's exaggerations are malicious. I'm not even sure most people are aware they're telling a half-truth. As each month passes you do sort of forget what developmental milestones your kid has blown past. It's when these exaggerations are told with an air of superiority that things get wonky. Last spring, when my infant was waking up three or four times a night to eat -- something nearly all five-month-olds do -- an acquaintance of mine shrugged that all three of her children arrived home from the hospital sleeping ten hours uninterrupted. As in, they never woke up during the night for their entire infancy. I took that information hard, because I felt like it meant I was doing something wrong. Coupled with a well-timed article about infant sleep habits and eventual IQ, I freaked out that something must be wrong with me or the kid or the crib mattress I spent three hours picking out because, dang it, that lady's kids were on another planet for the entire night.
Of course, I eventually came around to understand this tale was perhaps a bit embellished. As several of my close friends have had children recently, I saw that my own child's habits were pretty normal in comparison to theirs. In conversations with people I know, or barely know, I've heard more truth stretchin'. Sometimes, I recognize it right away, such as the time a Wally World cashier boasted her daughter could hold her own bottle at two months old, or when a mother I met at a playground told me her kid seemed more "cognitively aware" when dressed in organic cotton clothing. At other times, I'm not so sure. It is then that these little parenting fibs begin to sow the seeds of self-doubt. At this point, that's not exactly something I want to reap.
While I would love to declare I'll never be guilty of stretching the truth a bit in relation to my own child, I know all too well the slippery fibbing slope one can proceed down when pride and egos are at stake. Already, I've found myself engaged in some sort of mindless banter about my little one's first words (for the record, "tree," "this," "tub," "yeah," and "dog") and compared notes about the date at which he began to walk unassisted (12 months, two days). I can't help but silently tally his important milestones in relation to his peers. What I can hope to do is not brag about my own kid's abilities to some weary mother who is just trying to buy socks and formula at 5 a.m. No, really.
