Be Careful, Little Eyes, Who You Judge

I don’t believe in what people call karma...the idea that we are repaid for the evil that we do to others. I believe in a God that has more grace than that. But if it were true, I would be buried under a mountain of judgment from others. Why? Because amongst those who judge people (specifically other mothers), I am the worst.

While I was in college, I worked in a children’s museum. I would spend up to 8 hours a day judging how women, older and wiser than I, would parent their children in public spaces. I remember scoffing at the woman who dared to nurse her toddler in the wide-open middle of the museum while her preschooler played. I would get angry at the mom who left her child to play by himself all morning so she could be with her crawling baby. I despised the women who ignored their children altogether and just chatted with other moms. You name it, I saw it- changing diapers on play equipment, sneaking food into “no outside food or drink” spaces, yelling at kids, uncontrollable kids, and the worst thing of all, spanking kids. After so much time observing such abhorrent parenting, I knew I would be a good mom.

Then I had my first child…and I was the perfect mom. William was the easiest baby ever. We would smile, laugh, talk, and explore together. Grocery shopping was a pleasant and educational experience. “William, do you see a 3? Yes! That is a three!” I always found quiet, dark, peaceful places to nurse him when in public. At the park, I would run, climb, and swing right alongside him. My diaper bag was always stocked with tissues, antibacterial wipes, extra clothes. When he got upset, I was quick to diffuse any tantrum. Yes, I was the perfect mom, with a clean house, dinner on the table at 5:30 every night, and a beautifully decorated chip on my shoulder.

Then I had my second child…and the chip fell and landed on my big toe—HARD. I tried to do all I had done before. None of it was the same. I remember the first time I had to take both of them grocery shopping. I stood, holding the baby carrier and my 2 year old’s hand, staring at the cart that is clearly only made to hold one child. I tried everything.

Carrier on top + Toddler in basket = Fear of Baby or Toddler falling from a 4 foot height

Carrier on top + Toddler walking beside= Lost Toddler, Toddler running in front of other carts, Extra items found in cart at the cashier

Toddler in seat + Carrier in basket= Multiple 15 items or less shopping trips in one week

There was a time I was at the zoo and had finally laid out all of William’s sack lunch on a picnic table when Braden had a blowout. That chip landing on toe injury flared up as I changed my poopie baby on the bench at the picnic table where people eat.

The first time I was at a restaurant by myself with William and Braden and I needed to nurse. There was no dark and quiet nursing room and I was not about to sit on a toilet while my toddler crawled about on a bathroom floor. So, yep, I needed to embrace Women’s Lib and nurse in public view (with a cover, of course) in an eating establishment, much to the amusement of the middle school boys basketball team next to me.

Remember the moms I judged for ignoring their children so they could chat with their girlfriends? Well, it wasn’t long until I let my kids crawl around over, under, and around  the tables in the Jackson, TN Jason’s Deli so that I could have a good lunch with a friend.

Fast forward another kid and I have officially let go of every claim to pride. I’ve learned that there wasn’t much special about me in my parenting perfection. I was just fortunate enough to enjoy some time when circumstances lent themselves to an easy life. Things are more complicated now. My children are older and their needs are compounded. I don’t have the luxury anymore to make sure the diaper bags are well-stocked, the children eat all five servings of fruits and vegetables, or that their self-chosen outfits match. Grocery trips with all three are Hell on earth and I would rather shop at 3 am than take them with me. My two youngest only wear underwear and socks on Sundays. They watch more TV than Parents Magazine recommends. When people tell me my children need a tissue, I’m tempted to say one of the following:

“He’s looked like that all day”

“If that grosses you out, don’t look at his sleeve.”

“Can you also wipe off the chocolate pudding that’s been there since last night’s dinner?”


I spent four years in college and one year in graduate school reading and citing research articles on the hazards of spanking. I am now the mom says to my child at least once during a southern vacation, “We are in the South, so I’m allowed to spank you right here in the middle of the store…and if I don’t, someone else will offer to!”

Then, a few weeks ago, while cheering on my 6 year old in his last basketball game of the season, my 2 year old came out of the bathroom with a big wet spot on the crotch of his jeans. I let him run around and play like that for the rest of the game because I had forgotten a change of clothes and there was no way I was going to miss my son’s last game. When people snickered at him (and my awful mothering), I just smiled, cheered for William even louder, handed Braden the Inorganic, non-whole grain goldfish cracker that had fallen on the dirty gym floor for him to eat, and hugged my urine-stained, snotty nosed two year old.

See? I’ve done it all, much worse than any of those well-meaning women have done.

Now, wouldn’t it be great if we stopped judging other moms? Wouldn't it be easier if, in the middle of a meltdown, we didn't need to worry about the opinions everyone was forming about us? People love knocking others down a few notches so they feel better about themselves, even if it is only in thought and opinion. What if instead of scoffing at other mothers when their children have a temper tantrum in a store, we asked how we could help? You know, grab a few items from the other end of the store, wait at the deli counter while they take their toddler on an emergency run to the bathroom, hold their crying baby while they sit their preschooler in timeout in the center of the produce aisle? What if we tried to get to know the stressed out mom across the street that you hear yelling from inside her house? What if we arranged a playdate with the woman who is (gasp) separated from her husband?

Maybe there is more to the story. Maybe the mom has no family or friends around to help her. Maybe she is on two hours of sleep because of a sick baby. As I type this I received an email from a friend whose child has been diagnosed as Bipolar. She writes, “I wish more people would be open and not so harsh and judgmental towards parents. There is no way we can know what is going on when you only get a glimpse of that child’s behavior.”

Maybe we should offer the benefit of the doubt more often, hesitate to make any judgment on anyone who has walked a path we’ve yet to walk, pray more often for those around us, remember the grace we have been shown, and realize that God places every person in our lives for a reason and we are rarely called to stand aside and play the judge.