Crunch.

If you've ever read my brief bio you'll note the phrase 'semi-crunchy' a term I use somewhat tongue in cheek.  There's lots of terms and labels we can attribute to our parenting styles, yet often I think we should let our parenting define the type of parent we are as opposed to the label we're adhering to, afterall, parenting isn't being it's doing.  I think at times we can become a little fixated with keeping up with the mumsies of whichever parenting style we associate with.

So what is 'crunchy' ?  Are there degrees of crunchiness?  Am I crunchy enough?





In all honesty I don't actually give a toss. Perhaps this is somewhat easier for me seeing as i'm an obtuse hermit.

I abhor competitive parenting and the feeling of certain types of parenting being exclusive clubs.

Parenting should be fluid and evolving.

We learn.  We change.  We succeed. We fail. We try. We evolve.

So what do I mean when I pigeon hole myself as semi-crunchy? I lean towards instinctive parenting and attachment.  I've never attended a class nor read a book on it.  I don't subscribe to the notion of parenting experts or gurus. I make mistakes. I'm imperfect.

Often when people hear the phrase crunchy they envision a barefoot woman with dreadlocks, barefoot or with gnarly toenails and battered Berkenstocks who grows her own organic vegetables to lovingly make Vegan surprises and elder-flower cordial whilst teaching yoga, in a commune.  Her children will be home-schooled and untamed.  Everything is Zen. Their children are called Cosmos, Triangle, China and Grape.  Discipline is reflection and meditation. Everything smells of patchouli.  And, everything's Zen.

And that's okay.

Me?  I'm an overweight clinically depressed hermit who lives on chocolate and pepsi and an ever shortening fuse.

I hate vegetables.  And toenails.

I'm riddled with anxiety and have no idea what an elder-flower looks like and the idea of a moon-cup makes my fanny shrivel up and whimper.  I'd look fugly in harem pants.

I've never tried Quinoa and I shave under my arms.

And that's okay too. 

Yet I co-sleep, breastfeed, cloth nappy, do baby-led weaning,  wear baltic amber, abhor sleep training and physical discipline etc.

Go figure.

At the end of the day, so long as it feels right does it matter what 'type' of parent we are?

After all, we all Google our way through life and parenthood at the end of the day.

(and whether it's from Morrisons or distilled from fairies blood under the moon....we all have Gin)

Parenting:  If you know what you're doing, you're doing it wrong.