You're Doing It Wrong. And Yes. I'm Judging You.

There’s been a lot of kumbaya mommy business hitting the Internet of late. Mothers are raising their collective voices to say, “Hey, we may approach motherhood differently, but we’re all in this together. Watch us film this touching viral video while hugging. As of today, motherhood is a Judgement-Free Zone.”

Mmm-hmm. Just like how school is a “drug-free zone.”

There are co-sleeping parents, homeschooling parents, cry-it-out parents, attachment parenting parents, free-range parents, non-GMO and hormone-free parents. And, frankly, you all sound batshit crazy to me. Because, yes, I’m judging you.

Before the Sisterhood of the Elasticized Pants comes for me in the night though, let me ask this: Why do you care if I or any other mom is judging you? I think lots of things are crazy, like decaf coffee and people who touch bugs. Check it out: I may be the only person in the English-speaking world who doesn’t understand the appeal of The Princess Bride. Frankly, I prefer Robin Wright’s character in House of Cards. That alone could merit a visit from Child Protective Services. Do you enjoy The Princess Bride and fondling spiders? Well, there, there. Rest assured that you are the better person.

I think we do ourselves (and even our kids) a diservice to suggest that judging is inherently wrong. We use judgement to make sound decisions. For example, I think most professional body builders look like a hot dog the minute before it explodes in the microwave. Thanks to judgement, I will never take up body building, and have thus avoided a life of steroid injections, spray tans, and exercise.

It’s when we start believing that our judgements are the gospel truth that we get into trouble. It’s when we prop up our self-worth by foisting our judgements on others that we pave the road to crazy town. Do you get what I’m saying? My bulging hotdog may be your powerful beefy treat, and that’s okay. Just, ya know, shut the hell up about it.

Because you may not be able to fathom why anyone would use cloth diapers or opt for formula, or feed her son so much birthday cake that he goes on a vision quest . . .

. . . but I bet you can remember the days when you would do anything for an hour of sleep, when you felt so clueless and afraid that you binged on shoddily written parenting blogs, when everyone in your house was sick, and the dog needed to be walked, and it had snowed, and you were out of toilet paper. You did what you had to do in whatever way you had to do it.

So, when I hear you telling your shy little girl that she’s a “pretty, pretty princess,” I’ll stifle my urge to add, “or a pretty awesome political scientist!” And when you see me slipping my 1-year-old a few spoonfuls of ice cream to ease the teething blues, I’d rather you not suggest I reexamine my relationship with refined sugar (which, by the way, is the most enduring relationship of my life). We are doing what we have to do, even if we’re doing it all wrong.

Failing to strike it rich as a poet, Jessica Rapisarda succumbed to motherhood, humor writing, and snack chip addiction. She blogs about parenting, guilt, and other redundancies at Welcome to the Bundle. You can also find her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter.