It’s amazing the pressure we put on ourselves as mamas. You with me?
We expect ourselves to be flawless. We teach our kiddos that perfection is not attainable — yet expect ourselves to fit the mold of that oh so unattainable perfection.
So, after leaving a play date full of mamas the other day in tears because of my own wildly debilitating insecurities — I did some thinking.
You know that saying “when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.” — yeah, that’s so true.
I ASSUMED these mamas started their day with a cup of hot coffee, a devotional, and some lovely conversation with their husbands over a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs.
When in reality, chances are these mamas started their day with a half warm cup o’ joe, read a devotional while on the toilet for the only time that they will do so alone that day, and said hi/bye to their husbands as they ran out the door for work. Just. Like. Me.
I ASSUMED these mamas, clothed in LuLu Lemon, spent their morning at The Little Gym with their tutu-wearing bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little love bugs, followed by a play date with a dear friend that consisted of belly laughs and the rehashing of beautiful memories.
When in reality, chances are these mamas spent their morning picking egg out of their kid’s hair, unloading the dishwasher, folding laundry, saying “no” more times than they could count, and maybe…MAYBE…finishing that cup of coffee from early in the morning. Just. Like. Me.
I ASSUMED these mamas spent their afternoons, as their precious ones took 3 hour naps, perfecting their yoga practice and engaging in a bible study that challenged them spiritually, mentally, and emotionally.
When in reality, chances are these mamas had cranky no-nap kiddos who decided to bring their lovely cranky selves into mommy’s workout routine, leaving mommy with a half-ass workout and no time for that bible study that seems to be collecting dust. Just. Like. Me.
I ASSUMED these mamas made a home cooked meal of chicken parm and organic greens from the garden in their backyard, wearing a plaid apron and a nauseating smile on their faces as their husband walked in from work.
When in reality, chances are these mamas reheated turkey chili they made in February and tried their best to give a fake smile for their husband. Just. Like. Me.
I ASSUMED these mamas had riveting dinner conversation with their husband, their children ate every morsel of delicious organic food they fed them, and then proceeded to have glorious hot and heavy sex with their husbands after the kids went to bed without a peep.
When in reality, chances are these mamas could barely speak a word to their husbands over the whining of an over tired kiddo who relentlessly threw her microwavable mini pancakes on the floor for the dog, followed by that lovely kiddo fighting bedtime because CLEARLY they aren’t tired. Followed by collapsing in bed saying “tomorrow night, promise” to their husbands. Just. Like. Me.
Moral of the story is — mamas — ain’t NONE of us have our ish together.
We need to stop conjuring up what motherhood looks like in everyone else’s homes and realize that we are in this TOGETHER. I am so thankful for mamas who have opened my eyes to being REAL, RAW, and VULNERABLE.
Stop comparing yourself to anyone else and focus on YOU and YOUR kiddos. That is my plan, I can promise you that! And if any other hot mess mamas want to have a playdate amongst some dust, doggie paw prints, scattered toys, a mysterious stain on the couch cushion, and an unshowered mama — girl — come onnnn over!