I think that during a day and age when conversations are more likely to be done over text messages, photos are taken by the hour, and celebrity post-baby bods are more in shape than ever; perfection is expected. We are given the moment to think through our thoughts before hitting send. We are able to add the right filter/lighting/angle/outfit before showing the world what we “look” like and we admire celebrity photos forgetting that they have every resource at their fingertips from personal trainers to nannies. We are surrounded by a fog that we call “reality.” So once we become a new mom it’s really no wonder that we believe we too must be perfect.
And when that perfection is unattainable, we crack.
We assume that there is something wrong with US and that the rest of the world has it all figured out. Let me clue you in, NO ONE HAS A DAMN CLUE AS TO WHAT’S GOING ON. We really are just winging it.
Mothers are superwomen, don’t get me wrong, we really do deserve the cap, lasso, and sexy outfit; but we are HUMAN. We muster through the world on a few hours of sleep, we lie about the number of coffee cups we have had that day, we sigh at our never-ending piles of laundry, and we wonder what the base of a clean kitchen sink must look like. We do our very best, but we certainly aren’t perfect.
As a Motherhood Blogger, it is probably the most exhausting part of my world. I look through photos of families and go, “COME ON…that CANNOT be your reality!” and it’s really disconcerting and borderline heartbreaking believing that, that is who I must become. I refuse. I’ll have days I look a mess and won’t want my picture taken. I’ll have days where the dinner turns out horrible so we grab Chipotle instead. There will be days when the TV is one more often than I would like and when the pile of laundry just sits there. And I promise you, there will be days that I cry because I feel like I should be more. More of a mother, a wife, a friend, a daughter. More of the person than I am in that moment, because I already feel like I am running on fumes. I am not perfect.
In doing this blog, I have been able to connect with other women in more ways than I could have ever imagined. For the days I sat in the front seat of my car unable to move, because my toddler refused to sit in her car seat. For the days I posted a messy kid’s bedroom, because I felt as though the mess was never-ending. There were women who reached out to me saying that is their life, their reality, their normal. Those moments saved me. They saved me from doing the same old song and dance, that it must be me. That OTHER mother’s must be able to get their child in their car seat. OTHER mother’s must be able to keep their child’s room clean. Why do we do that? Why do we beat ourselves up like that? We are wonderful moms. We just aren’t perfect.
Please keep this post in mind the next time you are scrolling through Instagram, the next time your child is having a public meltdown, the next time you burn dinner, whatever the case may be. Please know that you are not alone. There is no such thing as the perfect mother. If she exists, please send her to my house. I could use a nap.