Preach It, Sister

A friend of mine posted an article on "less than perfect" moms that has started a whirlwind of sharing and commenting on Facebook. The gist of the article is that none of us are perfect parents but many of us spend way too much time and energy in a desperate attempt to act like we are.

It's pathetic. I know because I do it, too. Sometimes.

I don't think I do it very well though. If I did, I wouldn't talk about how I threatened to sell Natalie to gypsies every day for the first year of her life. I was kidding. Mostly.

Then there was earlier today when I was talking to Amazing Nurse Friend and told her that I really miss Bonnie's binky when she gets crabby for no discernible reason because sometimes I'd like to shove it in her pie hole and let her zone out rather than getting up and actively comforting her with a rousing rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle..." or something like that.

Thank God for friends like ANF. I can air my dirty laundry with her and feel relief, knowing that she is not judging me for sometimes being willing to accept a "meets expectations" rating on my imaginary annual job review rather than the "exceeds expectations" rating that I should strive to get. My children deserve that. They deserve everything.

Trying to give it to them is really, really hard though. Especially when they are whining. Or asking me for a juice refill the minute I sit down. Or climbing onto my lap while I'm trying to pee. Or telling me the plot of the most recent Clone Wars episode -- OH GOD, who cares??? -- when I finally get around to eating breakfast at 1:15 after they have had 2 square meals, numerous snacks and a trip to the playground.

It shames me to admit all that. I feel like I have no right to complain because I'm very lucky to have the wonderful family that so many couples would give their right arms to get. I know that I'm fortunate to be able to focus solely on my family rather than having to juggle their needs and the demands of a paying job.

If only knowing that was enough to put me into a zen state of motherhood 24/7. Alas, it does not.

Like the author, sometimes I yell louder than I should even though I know it will make Jack so nervous.

Sometimes I tell Bonnie that it's raining when it's not because I can't stand one more second outside.

Sometimes I fantasize about installing that eggshell stuff that recording studios use so that I can soundproof my bathroom and get 5 minutes of peace in there rather than listening to Jack tell me about his LEGO creations through the door when OMG, I have a shy bladder so PLEASE STOP TALKING, BUDDY!!!

Sometimes I grit my teeth in barely suppressed rage when we drive past a local daycare and Natalie laments that she never got to "have fun on their playground all day like some kids do" and I think of all the pretty shoes I'd have if I hadn't given up my career.

And always after those petty thoughts, I feel guilty. Because a "good" mother would never shriek like a harpy or hand a 2 year old a lollipop or an iPhone rather than read "Goodnight Moon" -- God, I hate that fucking book! -- and a "good" mother would definitely never get angry at a child for indulging in a little "grass is greener on the daycare side" daydreaming.

So yeah, I'm definitely not a "good" mother. But anyone who reads my blog figured that out long ago.

Once when Jack was very small, I was complaining to Tom about how hard it was to be stuck in the house all day -- Jack's pediatricians didn't want him out in public during his first fall and winter because his prematurity put him at greater risk of flu and RSV complications so he and I literally went NOWHERE except my Mom's and Gram's house for the first 9 months of his life -- and Tom said, "Baby, this is what you wanted. You didn't want to work. You wanted to be home with him. Why aren't you happy? I thought this is what you wanted?"

He was honestly perplexed because I'd gotten what I wanted and I didn't seem happy with it. The thing is, I was happy (mostly) but who wouldn't get a little stir-crazy trapped in a house with a constantly sleeping baby and daytime TV? I know he wasn't judging me because Tom isn't a judger (unlike his wife, ha.) Instead, he had the rosy view of motherhood that is the stuff of greeting cards and 1950's television shows rather than any sort of actual reality.

Regardless, I felt under attack and since that day I've tried so hard not to complain about anything related to the choice I made long before I knew what I was actually choosing. When I fail at that as I inevitably do (seriously, if I gave up complaining I would probably speak/write 85% less than usual) the guilt hits me. I see mothers at the playground, at preschool and online whose lives seem so perfect and I wonder why it's so effortless for them? Why do I struggle and rant and shuffle around with dark roots and stained yoga pants while they smile serenely in perfectly pressed J. Crew separates? How can I mess this up so badly when being a Mom is all I ever wanted to be?

If Ms. Smokler is right, the "perfect" ones are struggling, too. They just hide it better than I do. That should make me feel better but it doesn't. It makes me feel sad for them because I know how lonely it is to worry that people will realize you are a big phony and I know how exhausting it is to keep that fake smile from slipping.

That's why I will own my "bad" parenting and not beat myself up for my occasional lapses because, as I constantly tell my kids, "what matters most is that you do your best." I'll keep sharing the ups and downs of our days here in Tobinville and not worry about who is judging me and for what. I'll focus on what's important -- my beautiful, amazing, healthy, smart, sweet, funny children and my loving, wonderful, hilarious, patient husband -- and I'll try to let go of the little things that send me into a tailspin. And when my mom-dar picks up signs of another mother who is floundering, I'll be brave enough to ask her how she's doing rather than "help" her by pretending that I don't see the cracks around the edges. I hope all the Moms out there will do the same for me. We're all on the same team. Why don't we act like it?