Wanted: Ph.D in Parenting

I'm caught in the vortex - and I can't get out.

It started off innocently enough five years ago with "What to Expect When You're Expecting," pre-required reading for any first-time preggie. Then we moved to Pregnancy 101 ("The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy") then Parenting 101 ("The Everything Mother's First Year Book"). Because I enjoyed the first installment so much, I also had to have "The Girlfriend's Guide to Surviving the First Year of Motherhood" and I wanted to try a memoir on for size ("Operating Instructions") by Anne Lamott. And since I was a "special case," I just couldn't live without "Single Mothers by Choice" AND "The Complete Single Mom."

It was a wonder I actually had time to do any mothering; I spent so much time reading about it.

Then came the books I received as presents - the offbeat keepsake book "Baby's First Tattoo" and one of my first Mother's Day presents, "The Seven Stages of Motherhood."

There was the time I was feeling non-committal, opting only to read a parenting magazine instead of the book. But the article linking sedentary lifestyles with childhood diabetes prompted me to run out and get "The Wiggle and Giggle Busy Book: 365 Ways to Keep Your Child Active." At least it was called something like that.

During a June Cleaver-like moment, or maybe Carol Brady, I purchased "The Book of New Family Traditions." Then, following a more Joan Crawford/Mommie Dearest like moment where the bug and I both erupted in screams followed by tears, I opted for remedial parental education and bought a entire trilogy of parenting books at once - "The No Cry Sleep Solution for Toddlers and Preschoolers," "The No Cry Discipline Solution..." and "Momfidence."

The last book amped me up with so much confidence - like a Red Bull and vodka of motherly self-esteem - that I was actually was in self-imposed rehab for several months. No parenting books to interrupt my preferred bedside reading of cozy mysteries and monthly book club selections.

Until...he moved in.

Yes, my beloved. My adored. Peter. The father in training.

The guy who majored in PSYCHOLOGY.

Suddenly, it wasn't just me obsessing about being a better parent. He has been more than happy to join in, and contribute to, the insanity.

Now, the Elizabeth Pantley (mom-authored) book on my nightstand is competing with his Dr. Kazdin (what else, a pyschologist-authored) book. We spend our dinner table discussions debating the merits of sticker charts vs. other childhood behavior training models. We evaluate the seemingly infinite number of time-proven" methods of getting your child to bed in an orderly manner. Lily has, for the record, disproven all the "expert" theories and continues to evade bedtime like the plague.

Yes, the parenting equation has become infinitely more complicated with Peter in the picture. But it's also easier - how wonderful to know someone's got your parenting back. And it's infinitely better. For me and for Lily.

And I don't need a book to tell me that.