Caught between broccoli battles and cupcake chaos: Life as a Type C mother
Being a Type C parent involves the humorous realities of trying to keep it all together.
Image: Sarene Kloren
I like to think of myself as a Type C parent – which is basically code for "I’m trying really hard, but things don’t always go according to plan” - and I’m okay with that... mostly.
It’s that sweet spot between the highly organised Type A parents - you know the ones with children who eat broccoli for snacks without complaining and the laid-back Type B crew, whose kids wear pyjamas to the mall and have never heard of a bedtime.
As a mother of twin daughters - one who is on the autism spectrum - every day is a fine balance of managing chaos and embracing it. Like the time when they were 4 years old and I took them to a five-star hotel in the V&A Waterfront.
The invitation said "kiddie-friendly high tea", and in my head, I imagined Instagrammable moments of my girls nibbling on cucumber sandwiches in floral dresses. The reality? They flat-out refused to wear shoes, let me brush their hair, or wear anything remotely matching.
We walked through the marbled foyer and sat next to a mother with a little girl in patent leather shoes and a coordinating bow, alongside everyone else’s daughters who were dressed in their Sunday best.
One of the other mothers was clearly mortified and commented; "They aren't wearing shoes", to which I responded; "Fortunately they changed out of their swimming costumes".
My two wild ones, with bright pink lipstick smeared across their lips were first in line for the cakes – by which I mean “in” the cakes.
But you know what? They had the time of their lives. And honestly, so did I, once I’d accepted we were now “those people” to everyone else in the room.
That, in a nutshell, is Type C parenting. We try to show up on time, but sometimes with a yoghurt-smeared child and no shoes. We want them to eat healthy, but we also don’t mind a biscuit bribe. We care deeply, but not always conventionally.
I do admire the Type A parents with their meal-prep charts, coordinated craft kits, and ironed uniforms. And I’ve got a soft spot for the Type Bs, who float through parenting like chilled yogis, unfazed by mess or mayhem.
But Type Cs? We’re the middle ground. We’re the ones Googling “how to make spinach taste like pizza” while hiding in the pantry with a KitKat.
Being a Type C parent means you’re constantly adjusting and juggling expectations, trying to figure out if 15 minutes of screen time is really that bad if it means you can drink your coffee while it’s still hot.
It’s trial and error. And then trial again, with slightly more error.
Often we laugh instead of yell, when we lean into the imperfection of the moment, when we whisper "me too" to another flustered mum in the supermarket.
So here’s to us Type Cs – the parents who pack organic snacks but forget the water bottles, who know their limits, and don’t always get it right – but keep showing up anyway, shoeless and all.
IOL Lifestyle