Parenting has turned me into a bit of a hypocrite

I recently found myself sitting at the kitchen table lecturing my teenage son about the dangers of drinking alcohol, how it damages your health, holds you back in sport, impairs your judgment, and how it can lead you into situations you wouldn’t wish to be in if sober. It is a conversation that happens up and down the land every day of the week.

I caught myself halfway through the discussion looking for a refill of my wine glass. It was a Thursday night, so, yes, nearly the weekend. I justified this hypocrisy in my own head by saying, quite rightly, at the age of 40 I have the maturity to put the cork in the bottle at the appropriate juncture and get ready for work the next day. At the age of 16 it is harder to know when enough is enough.

I began to wonder about my proficiency in the art of moulding another human into a respectable, responsible, productive and happy adult.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised how imperfect my parenting skills are. But imperfection is a common malaise, part of our genetic make-up and, despite my parental foibles, I concluded that I hadn’t done such a bad job. Just spending five minutes in the company of my three scuts was enough to know that is correct. They are fine little humans, I thought to myself.

An exercise in self-awareness

They say the first step in addressing problems is admitting to them, so with these silent mutterings swirling around my brain, I undertook an exercise in self-awareness and set about identifying my own imperfections as a parent.

I remembered the feeling way back in 1998, when we discovered, to our surprise, that a baby would be arriving in just about six months. I was only 23, and it scared the living daylights out of me.

The idea of being a parent is still overwhelming sometimes. When the day arrived, despite having read a number of books and taken counsel on the matter, I remained clueless about what to do with or say to a child, let alone how to be in charge of him for the rest of my life.

I have to admit that I have taken out my own frustrations on the children. Sometimes they feel the brunt of somebody annoying me at work, the fact that the car has broken down again, that I’ve put on weight, that I have a hangover. It happens. This does not make me a bad parent, but in an era where positivity trumps brutal honesty, it’s easy to feel inferior.

I let my standards slip as more children arrived. Our first was bathed every night up to the age of two. His skin was crinkly most of the time. It must have paid off, because at the age of 16 he now showers three times a minute (which he will deny and he will probably be embarrassed by me saying this).

By number three we had let the baths slip to twice a week and a trip to the swimming pool on Saturday (he hasn’t reached the embarrassed stage yet). Toy guns were outlawed in our house in 1999, but by 2005 we were tooled up with plastic rifles, AK-47s, tanks and Nerf guns.

Something of a hypocrite

I have definitely turned into something of a hypocrite since becoming a parent. Whatever about the “do what I say, not what I do” attitude to alcohol consumption, I have certainly shouted at the kids to stop shouting at each other, which is ridiculous, when you think about it.

I have secretly, and sometimes openly, wished they were all in bed asleep. Sometimes we need to get away from them and more importantly they need to get away from us. Everybody needs a break from everybody else from time to time so that equilibrium can be restored in the house. If this involves a nice hotel with a pool and an open-ended offer from the grandparents, then all the better.

I sometimes give the kids sweets and let them watch too much television just to keep them out of my hair. “I’m busy; here’s a bribe.” Everybody is a winner.

Sometimes, I wonder what life would be like without them, if we had not had any in the first place. Doesn’t every parent do this? The prospect is too hollowing to think about for long.

Anyone who has attempted it knows it’s not an easy job to be a parent, and it’s certainly not easy to be the perfect parent. Yet there is an endless supply of how-to manuals, advice articles, forums and Facebook posts by experts.

Here's my advice. When somebody is telling you their children sleep all night, they have moved on to algebra after playschool, they're out of nappies at six months and they love nothing more than green beans for lunch, remember this: there is no such thing as a perfect child or a perfect parent. Anyone who tells you otherwise is even more imperfect than you, because they are also liars.

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• Michael Harding is on leave