I have friends with children who often come across overly-critical relatives/friends/random folk in shops, who believe their advice is best. I’m sure those people mean well, but many friends have felt like failures because they feel they aren’t doing the parenting thing right. Here is a poem to reflect this scenario:
No bottles love, the breast is best!
When baby sleeps, you must have rest.
He’s only small, don’t let him cry.
You must ensure that nappy’s dry.
No wipes on him, his skin in new.
You can’t do that, I thought you knew.
Not walking yet, I’d check that out.
Oh naughty boy, he must not shout!
You need to clean, house is a mess
You must calm down, he’ll sense your stress
He bit again, need that to stop.
Look there he goes, another strop!
When back to work, you must be bored?
You’ve fancy stuff you can’t afford.
Her down the road, she’s never home.
Her mother’s got those kids alone.
You’re such hard work, what’s wrong with you?
I’m not allowed to say what’s true!
Not critical, just good advice!
You’ve hurt me now, you’re never nice!
I’m fortunate that I have an amazing mother who doesn’t get offended if I take or leave her advice. I often leave it 🙂
Lesa is an average person, living an average life and is moderately happy with her lot. There are peaks of bountiful happiness and pleasure and dips of turmoil and flatness. Lesa doesn’t let life’s set-backs knock her down or think she’s invincible when she achieves greatness. She’s finally realised that nobody is perfect and the purpose of life is to embrace it with all she’s got and to give what she can to others. Oh, and try to have a lot of fun along the way.
Lesa has no idea why she’s writing in the third person; she never does that.