Parenting "Experts" and Information Overload

My lovely friend Estrella sent me a link to a podcast, "The Economist's Guide to Parenting." The following is a quote from that podcast:

"Now, if you thought it was bad in the 20th century, you might want to stay out of the 21st. In a lot of places, parenting has become a competitive sport. Experts are everywhere, each of them sounding more confident than the last, even if their advice contradicts one another — or contradicts themselves? So how are we supposed to know what’s really good for kids? How do we know what’s worth worrying about — and what’s not?"

You can read the whole transcript, or listen to the podcast here:
http://www.freakonomics.com/2011/06/07/the-economist-guide-to-parenting-full-transcript/


I pulled the above quote, because that quote, in-and-of-itself, to me represents so much about parenting that I am borderline petrified of. This business of every "expert" telling you how to parent your child, people incessantly pointing out what you're doing wrong, other parents telling you how frickin' fabulous their child is... daily, and receiving links to 5 million mommy blogs/parenting websites and such... unsolicited. This of course on top of your own pre-existing tendencies to overthink, over-research and possibly overdo everything. (Or at least mine anyway).

I would like to believe that I wouldn't fall victim to parenting information overload - or this belief that simply being a parent makes you a "parenting expert" of any sort or kind.

If we kid, I will never profess to be a parenting expert, and I'm going to do my damndest to make decisions based on what my husband and I believe just works. The pragmatic approach.

The funny part perhaps is that if we do kid, I suppose there is a decent chance that I will become a mommy blogger. That title also scares the hell out of me, especially because I'll still be an opinionated little bitch who points fingers at people for parenting wrong and will likely have many, many more fingers pointed right back at me as I screw up my own kid on a fairly regular basis.

What can I say? I'm a total hypocrite. But, buried beneath the hypocritical bitch exterior is the neurotic somewhat insecure mess who will likely be poring over mommy blogs, Jewgling and everything else I should be avoiding, if we do in fact kid.

In the meantime, I love being the mommy of two adorable Boston Terriers that I just can't get enough of. Love, love, love it.

I Jewgle... and sometimes, I do it very, very well. (Sometimes).

I Jewgle. I hate to cave to stereotypes, but it's true. I am a semi-neurotic, (okay very neurotic), Jew - with a marked tendency to overreact to even the slightest medical malady. Instead of simply brushing it off until I see what happens, (and whether or not it necessitates a visit to the doctor), I start Jewgling. I love Google - and the Internet of course... but for those of us who are literally born with this rather annoying tendency, (paranoia/fear/need to know what's wrong with me now), Google can be a very dangerous thing. So can WebMD and a host of other sites for that matter, which Google will gladly lead you to if you're Jewgling mind you, and in my case, this is always what transpires when I've managed to convince myself that I'm dying of one thing or another. Granted, it doesn't help that I am obsessed with shows like Trauma in the ER, Mystery Diagnosis, I Was Born Without a Head et al, but trust me... it wouldn't make a difference if those shows didn't exist.

In my defense, I'm actually not a bad Jewgler. Years ago, I was on a very stressful business trip in NYC. I was overworked, overtired and underpaid, and I dragged my then-boyfriend, (now husband), John, along with me. Within 24 hours upon arrival, John got hit with what was probably the nastiest flu/cold/virus I'd ever seen. He had a fever of 104... and I HAD to go to work. There was no getting out of it. I left him in bed with mediocre room service and even less impressive food, having obtained antibiotics for him - and hoped for the best. I begged and pleaded with him to go to the ER. He wasn't having it.

Lo-and-behold, I wake up the next day - and my eyelids are practically sealed shut. Mind you, this is the day of the "Big Event" I'm in NYC for in the first place... a huge launch party for a high-end designer line of eyewear with a very well-known designer duo, at a chi-chi venue that has been in the making for months. I'm supposed to arrive dressed to the nines, and look as flawless and confident as possible, but I have these eyelids that are inflamed, ruby red, and look as if they are the eyelids of a 95 year-old woman that hurt when water so much as touches them. What do I do? I take my laptop into the lobby of my hotel for wireless access, and begin the Jewgling process. In this particular instance however, I was right. Even before the "top rated" dermatologist and ophthalmologist I would see that day would figure it out, I already knew that I had severe blepharitis... kind of like psoriasis of the eyelids. Not good. That same day, I went to a dermatologist, (again, top-rated), who couldn't even IDENTIFY what the problem was and said, (and I quote), "I won't touch that until you've seen a ophthalmologist." That's comforting. Way better than Jewgling, right? Anyway - managed to get the appointment with the ophthalmologist - who inevitably confirmed my own diagnosis. No, I'm not looking for kudos here... I'm just stating the facts of what transpired during this unfortunate trip, (while also adding a bit of credibility to those of us who know how to Jewgle well).

Anyway, to add insult to injury, after the mysterious eye debacle that prevented me from looking/feeling my best at a very elegant and amazing event, I wound up having to fly back home with the same horrific flu/cold/virus thing that John had. (He had recovered by this point). On a side note, John had been planning to propose to me on this trip. Let's just say I'm happy it didn't go down that way.

To make a long story short... somehow, it both comforts and tortures me to Jewgle. I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't...

HOW WILL THIS TRANSLATE TO CHILDREN???

Will I Jewgle more? Will I Jewgle at the slightest sniffle? I have to assume so. Right now, I actually believe I've got it in check to some extent, (the desire to Jewgle that is). Truly, I'm not a hypochondriac - I'm more of an "alarmist" and thus only utilize this method when I'm 100% certain that SOMETHING IS WRONG. I've just got to figure it out as soon as humanly possible, because waiting for an appointment at the doctor simply doesn't work as it should.

But kids... I mean, really. Helpless little tiny PEOPLE... I'm already paranoid about my puppies. I Jewgle for them already when something is amiss in their happy, frolickly little world... and again, more often than not, I'm right on the money with the initial, pre-doctor/veterinarian diagnosis.

Now imagine me with kids...

Take into account that I inherited this fun little trait from my mother. Albeit I have it to a lesser extent than she, but honestly, what will this do to any little lives I have anything to do with?

Do I even have time to Jewgle for children? It could become a full-time job...

I ask you... what do you think? Do you do this?

Let me end this rather lengthy post by crediting the folks who first introduced me to the "Jewgling" term... Adam Carolla and Teresa Strasser. People I'm hoping to have the honor of interviewing for this blog one day, as equally neurotic, opinionated people themselves, who happen to have kids. If you don't listen to their podcasts, you should.