I’m one of ‘those’ mums, you know, the type, I admit it, but I make no apologies for my parenting style.
I never set out to be an attachment parent though, I just knew that I wanted to be with my boys and my boys just wanted to be with me. It was simple. Every bone in my body, every instinct and every beat of my heart told me that’s what I needed to do.
Now before you click that little x in the corner of the page, don’t worry, I’m not preaching about how you should or shouldn’t parent your child. Everyone’s different and every family does what’s best for them, for us it was being together. A team. A package. I’m simply sharing my parenting journey for the curious.
You see, from the moment I became ‘Mum’, where ever I went my boys went and we were happy, it just worked. It soon became clear all three of my boys were velcro babies, preferring cuddles and naps in my arms and my bed to the solitude of their cots or the play mat.
I tried, I really did to get them to sleep all night in their cots. I was young (ish) always doubting and comparing. Was it something I was doing wrong? Was I too soft or too weak to enforce a routine? Was I taking the cheats way out? There were so many conflicts between my head and heart. I wanted them with me, but the baby books said No.
So I read, I researched and studied, then realised I wasn’t doing anything wrong at all. I had a style, everyone has a style, and I was attachment parenting. Instead of creating the clingy toddler everyone was forecasting, I was responding to their cues and building brain connections so healthy, that once my helpless little chaps were ready, would grow into independent young men, with the safety net of experience knowing I was always there, giving them the freedom to explore the world at their will.
My boys were learning empathy, emotions and blueprints for later emotional health. I wasn’t damaging them, I was nurturing them. I was doing what nature intended. And it felt good.
I carried on with the parenting style I knew, co sleeping, baby wearing and baby led breastfeeding. Only third time round there was no worry I was doing it wrong.I was proud to declare my attachment parenting title, who cares what others do.
This is me and I’m attached!
I have the most sociable, independent and happiest little boy I could wish for. Sure, he has his off days when he’s tired or poorly and there are the moments when he wants to be carried while I’d cooking the tea, but these moments only last for so long, there’ll soon be day when I’m yearning for those little arms wrapped round my neck once more.
So I’ll carry on scooping him up in my arms, balancing him on my hip and cherishing the closeness and comfort we both adore.
I’m an attachment parent and proud.