Because half the time, we don’t know if we’re doing an okay job.

After all, if not for the weighing machine or report cards or sports days, how else will we gauge how well we’re raising our kids?

Admittedly, I’m always worried if I’m being a good mother. My husband tells me I’m doing a great job but my expectations of myself, and him, are a little higher. By being a good mother, I mean making sure, at this stage, that nothing untoward happens to our kids. Paranoia becomes second nature because if I imagine the worst, we can then be prepared for the worst. Thing is, I don’t think we will ever be prepared.

Will we know how to handle it if one day, Raeven or Skyler become sick and have to be hospitalised? Can we take it if they develop severe personality problems and need to be home-schooled?

How about if they come home with a nose ring or a tattoo?

Or a baby?

Will we be able to hold it together if our children get embroiled in drugs and mix with the wrong kind of friends? If they worship material wealth over quality of life? If they decide to give up everything worldly and become nuns or missionaries? If they want to go to war and fight for their country?

There are so many things beyond our control. As they grow older, our kids move away from our circle of influence and inevitably walk into others. The lesser of us, I believe, will try as hard as possible to hold on to them for as long as possible. The better of us, learn that our kids eventually are not our own.

And not us.

Doesn’t seem fair, does it, this parenting thing?

Which is why it’s a good thing kids come into this world as cute babies. Otherwise nobody will want to reproduce!

Kiddddinnng!!