Pendulum parenting

Finding a cure for wild swings between arbitrary rules | Amy Henry

Illustration by Krieg Barrie

Monday my husband and I boldly go where we have never gone before: swing dancing lessons. And, seeing as we are about as adept on the dance floor as Steve Martin's character in The Jerk, it should, if nothing else, prove humbling.

Dancing may be unfamiliar territory, but, as a parent, there is another kind of swinging that is all too familiar. Wildly fluctuating between strictness and leniency, drill instruction and lethargy, I adhere to one, then another parenting style, often with an eye toward my maternal reputation and almost always without consulting the brain God gave me for just such occasions.

I tick in one direction when convinced by a well-meaning friend to feed my baby on The Schedule. I tock in the other when I find said schedule restrictive and subsequently nurse her every time she sniffles. I bake bread from home ground wheat, not because it has more fiber per slice, but because the ladies at Bible study do it. I then tire of the kneading, stock my shelves with white fluff from the Wonder outlet, and pray no one checks my breadbox.