Ya know what sucks? The crazy expectations that are put on moms today. They aren’t real--they are perpetuated by crazy societal bullshit, unrealistic celebrity lives, and filtered Instagram accounts. But, so often we all (I think) feel bogged down with feelings that we aren’t enough. We are expected to make healthy dinners in our pinterest-worthy kitchens right after a pilates workout. We think we need to plan trips to the zoo in between arts and crafts projects while looking effortlessly trendy and cute. We expect our post-partum closets to include bikinis and skinny jeans rather than sweatpants and hoodies. We over-accessorize birthday parties, we plan over-priced vacations, we diet, we pose for professional Holiday photos and at the end of the day, so many of us still feel like we aren’t living up to the hype.
Well, fuck that. Wanna know some real shit? I drink Diet Coke for breakfast, feed my kids a healthy menu of mostly mini-muffins, pasta, and donuts (see—I almost didn’t say donuts, but it’s the fucking truth!) and am a supporter of ipad breaks for the sanity of everyone. I am happy! But, I lose my shit at least five times a day and I am working on lowering that number. I hate bathingsuit shopping and even with three kids am convinced that everyone is always wondering whether or not I am pregnant, because my jeans don’t fit quite like they used to. Where did this delusion come from that we should look kid-less after three kids? Social media messes with our heads. Everyone is on display for comparison AND we have an audience. Double wammy. I see your perfect bedroom décor, your freshly cooked meals and your perfect family beach trip. I even see your half marathon pace if I’m lucky. And I am just over here biting my toenails (yeah, I really do that sometimes) wondering how the hell I am supposed to feel like I am doing enough.
But, I also love to buy cute clothes and I have my fair share of professional family photos. I cooked a spaghetti squash once and I’ve taken my kids on a couple of plane rides. It’s complicated. I have an exercise bike and sometimes I ride it and sometimes I use it to hang my clothes. Some days I make it look easy, and some days I realize I have my daughters poop on my forearm while wiping yogurt off my windshield. I am truly happiest when I am home with my kids, but I also want to take my morning dump by myself. I spend too much money at Starbucks, I genuinely love to do crafts, and I am obsessed with M&Ms and Love Island. I wore a romper and heels last weekend like someone’s Bumble date, and today I’m tucking my fupa into my sweatshorts and I have two back-of-the-thigh ingrown hairs that just won’t quit.
Point is, I see you. I see you, and I feel you, and holy shit this is hard and I don’t feel like I am doing a good job either. But you are, and hopefully I am too.