I attachment parent.

I also dictate.

My children have slept in my bed.

Sometimes I snuck out to sleep in theirs.

I wanted natural child birth.

I begged for drugs.

In my mind I was cloth diapers.

In reality, the disposables called out to me.

I breast fed.

Until I couldn't.

I have spoken to them with a quiet, hushed voice.

I have yelled.

I have answered their every need.

Sometimes my needs trumped theirs.

I don't chew their food.

But I still cut their grapes in half.

I wouldn't put them on a subway by themselves.

But I do let them go to the park without me.

I've never had to explain why there is no food on our table.

I've talked to them about the kids who don't have food.

I work from home so I can be with them.

When friends who work outside the home are running late, I help.

I helicopter.

I let them go.

I feed them whole, organic foods.

I feed them processed foods.

I trust my instincts.

I question my instincts.

I promise not to compare.

I compare.

I volunteer at school.

I don't like it.

We don't have video games.

I am thankful for playdates at houses who do.

I read parenting books, highlighting certain passages.

I stand in awe at how much dust they have collected.

I have disciplined.

I have bribed.

I have spent countless hours playing with them.

I have used the television as a baybsitter.

I'm often befuddled and confused.

But always trusting my love will guide the way to help them grow into human beings that are kind, caring and compassionate.

I mostly have no idea.

And if I were on the cover of magazine touting motherhood, this is probably what I'd look like.