XOJane recently ran a piece called Does Anyone Else Feel Like They Broke Their Kid?, in which the author reflects back to an encounter at a doctor’s appointment when her son was two.
To the casual observer, the Parenting SPY is just the guy making a deposit at the bank or the old lady weighing melons in the store or this very woman staring at me in the waiting room. Sitting next to me in her judgmental crocs trying to figure out if I’m a good parent. I haven’t quite worked out who Parenting SPIES report to or why. Actually, no, scratch that, they report to my mother.
I decide to sit up straighter in my chair and readjust my ponytail. I look over to make sure that Boogie isn’t trying to force a tiny embrace on anyone. He’s counting the fish in the tank, “One, two, three, five, eight, double-you, auntie, Elaiwe… ” I smile to myself.
“Well, isn’t he a charming little man,” the Parenting Spy says.
“Yes. He’s a good boy,” I reply. I think quickly about a way to slide in that I read to him every night (okay, every other night) but she’s already moved on to her next line: “And he’s dressed like a little teenager!” I’m certain she’s not using the words she really means.
You can read the entire piece at the source.