Your mama is so neurotic . . .

Should I call this blog “Neuroticmama?” No, I probably shouldn’t. It’s too self-referential, too winky, too “Hey, funny, see how neurotic I am.”

And the “mama” part? God. Oh course not.  “Neuroticmom,” which felt more right, was taken. I’ll come up with another name when I can think of one. For now, I’m at a loss. But looking at the big picture over the past 12 years since I’ve been with child, in utero or out, I’ve watched some patterns emerge. Thus, the blog name, which I’m ambivalent about, and which I may change. Or not. Who knows.

So the patterns: Does attachment parenting produce entitled children who have no emotional resiliency or strong, secure people? Did I hold my babies in the sling too much? How do you weigh out the benefits of a family bed for my 11-year-old son with the damage it might have done to the family? How much did I damage my son when at age four he wacked off all the leaves of a tree I had just planted and I rushed up to him, held him by his shoulders, and said, no yelled, “We are gentle with plants! Gentle. With. Plants!!!”

Then there are the obvious questions? Am I a bad mom or a good mom? What about global warming? Terrorism? What’s the point? What should I make for dinner for the next 15 years?


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