Hey mama, I see the defeat in your eyes.
Modern motherhood is a battle. It’s full-time moms with full-time jobs struggling to keep up. It is extraordinary tiring.
The media shoves perfection down your throat. Telling you how to be a good mom. Feed your babies homemade organic food, always look like Gap/Baby Gap ad, don’t allow more than 30 minutes of screen time, forbid your children a sip of soda, keep your children from speaking above 40 decibels, make homemade crafts, splurge on expensive vacations, have your children join 3 sports and 5 clubs and don’t admit you may snap at any moment.
Social media makes you feel like you’re not doing enough. Not good enough. It’s no wonder you are dead tired, stressed and rushed through life.
I get you. I am you. I’m tired as a mother.
Perfect social media experts are as annoying as the flies in my house this summer.
To the fly on the wall judging me with its five eyes… you don’t know my life.
So, I’ll give you a taste of it…
6:00am: Sneak into the shower and sip coffee for two minutes before my 4-year-old son, Tucker, gives a roundhouse kick to the bathroom door like he’s Chuck Norris.
6:02am: Tucker says, “The baby put her hand in my pee stream… She’s touching me with her pee hand!” (This brings a whole new meaning to the reality t.v. show “Naked and Afraid”)
6:15am: Wipe both my daughters’ butts
6:30am: Give my children pop-tarts for breakfast because I’m already too tired to make homemade pancakes (despite pinning 7 homemade pancake recipes on Pinterest)
6:47am: 3-year-old daughter, Scarlett, takes a sip of my coffee, “Your coffee’s not hot. Why?”
6:49am: “Because kids,” I answer her question (sleep deprivation has added 2 minutes on my processing speed)
7:03am: Put coffee down to hold Tucker who is crying because it is not Christmas morning (It’s July)
7:20am: Reheat coffee
7:23am: Put coffee down because my 1-year-old daughter, Fiona, took off her diaper, pooped on the carpet and rubbed it on herself
7:24am: Clean up mess with one hand and push three kids away with the other
7:40am: Reheat coffee
7:45am: Wipe my son’s butt
8:00am: Wipe my daughter’s butt
8:02am: Break up a fight between my daughters
8:05am: Tucker yells, “Fi is making a mess in the kitchen!”
8:06am: Clean up mess
8:07am: Tucker and Scarlett howl like coyotes out the window
8:10am: Hide behind my cup of cold coffee
8:10am: My kids find me
8:27am: Find a lollipop stuck to the back of the t.v. (yes, to the t.v.) covered in ants
8:28am: Clean up mess
9:00am: Tucker shouts, “MOM, I WANT A HOT DOG!”
9:01am: Fiona runs around kitchen chanting, “Hot dog, hot dog, hot dog…”
9:15am: Wipe my daughter’s butt
9:37am: Fiona climbs on top of kitchen table, throws water balloons on floor while singing “Happy birthday”
9:38am: Clean up mess
9:45am: Ask Scarlett, “Where are your clothes?”
10:05am: Top off coffee
10:06am: Fiona dives on top of me spilling hot coffee down my arm
10:09am: Give up. Dump remaining caffeinated goodness down the drain (my friends advise me to switch to wine because its good cold or warm. It’s only 10 o’clock in the morning. I’m not sure what my mom or Child Protective Services would say about this)
10:21am: Wipe my daughter’s butt
10:30am: Take the kids outside in the yard
11:03am: Yell, “Tucker, don’t pee on your sister’s back”
11:30am: Yell, “Scarlett, don’t pee on your brother’s toy truck”
11:42am: Yell, “Get your nose out of her butt” (that’s not referencing the dog either)
12:00pm: Make lunch
12:02pm: My kids leave after two bites of their sandwich to chase a balloon
12:15pm: Clean up lunch mess
12:20pm: Tell my children not to play with the balloon in the living room because the fan is on
12:22pm: Balloon hits the fan. Eight tiny feet scurry, screaming for their lives
12:23pm: Clean up mess
12:40pm: Scarlett covers herself and kitchen window in lipstick
12:43pm: Clean up mess
1:10pm: Ask Scarlett, “Where are your clothes?”
1:23pm: The nudist escapes outside
1:25pm: Carry a naked, shrill-screaming Scarlett like a football back inside
1:50pm: Wipe my daughter’s butt
2:00pm: Swipe gum out of Fiona’s mouth
2:10pm: Snag scissors from Scarlett
2:45pm: Fiona pees on chair and splashes in puddle
2:46pm: Clean up mess
3:03pm: Ask Scarlett, “Where are your clothes?”
3:17pm: Fiona shoves lipstick in her ear
3:18pm: Clean up mess
3:51pm: UPS man delivers a bottle of wine to my door saving my life
4:15pm: Cook dinner
5:00pm: Yell at kids to “Take a bite!”
5:30pm: Clean up dinner mess
5:51pm: Fiona poops on the kitchen table (if you have to ask ‘How does this happen?’ you probably don’t have kids)
5:52pm: Clean up mess
6:20pm: Tucker says, “Having kids is not easy”
6:20pm: Fist bump my son
7:30pm: Give three little pigs a bath
7:50pm: Put Fiona to bed
8:00pm: Clean up bath mess
8:10pm: Turn on movie for Tucker and Scarlett, so I can shower in peace
8:13pm: Get the sense someone is peeking under the door while I shower (spoiler alert it’s the husband)
8:15pm: Husband says, “whatchu dooiiin’??” breaking me into a mental sweat
8:16pm: “Don’t even think about it buddy,” I grumble
8:30pm: Tucker talks his dad into catching lightning bugs
8:35pm: Fall backwards onto my bed
8:55pm: Tucker gives a roundhouse kick to my bedroom door. “Mom! I got a gift for you!”
8:56pm: Tucker releases countless lightning bugs into my bedroom, “Surprise!”
9:00pm: Play musical beds so children will sleep in their own bedrooms
11:30pm: Crawl into my bed (with 1 child in tow)
12:01am: Stare at lightning bugs on bedroom ceiling.
I’m not buying what social media is selling. Motherhood is not a perfect masterpiece. Motherhood is an improvisation. It’s learning to use our intuition that leads to our greatest piece of work.
Hey mama, I see the defeat in your eyes. It’s okay.
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