No, Your Kids Won’t Grow Up to Hate You if You Do What You Want Sometimes

Photo by Jason Rosewell on Unsplash

Far be it from me to ever pretend that I have all of the answers. Just like anyone else I think, I’m finding that every move, every thought, every planned Pinterest activity comes with a reminder of just how little I know about parenting in general.

That being said, I think I can say with absolute certainty, that some of you aren’t giving your children — or yourself — enough credit.

But let’s back up a second. This article comes on the tail of some fallout I received over a tweet I posted. It went a little something like this:

Yes, that’s me as Voldemort. Please focus.

I tweeted this because, as you’ve probably surmised, I do not like to play pretend with my children. It always devolves into them telling me I’m not doing it right and me thinking about how many games I could be playing on my phone before we amiably part ways until snack time. I don’t find pretend play interesting or easy to follow, and they don’t find me to be a good play buddy.

According to the narrative we’ve swallowed, this means I’m a terrible mother. You know how I know? The internet let me know.

While the majority of the comments I received were thankful for what I’d said, a troubling number pushed back; I was treated to everything from being called a “sh*tty parent” to being told that my children would grow up to hate me because I don’t play tea party with them at their every whim.

“If your child asks you to play with them, they want a connection with you.” They typed, I imagine with their 10-year-old in a Moby wrap on their back. “If you don’t play with them, you’re telling them you don’t care about being close to them.”

“My mother never played with me.” Another said, most likely glaring at a photo of their own parents that they’d been using for dart practice. “I don’t even like her as an adult now.”

I wanted to be angry about these comments, but instead they just made me incredibly sad. These people have soaked up unrealistic expectations to the point of having no room for themselves, and that has to be exhausting.