I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this motherhood gig is hard. Really hard. Beat my head in with a rock because the pain helps me stop thinking about how hard this motherhood thing is hard.
It’s easy for me to get bogged down by the weight of it all. Tantrums, sleep regressions, snacks, discipline, bath time battles, block towers, a kitchen which defies cleanliness, the eternal stench of pee in the air, all of it. Some nights I go to bed foolishly thinking, “Woe is me. I am the only one who’s dealing with this. No one understands what I’m going through.”
I am not the first mom, and I will not be the last.
I am not the first mom to pull the blankets over her head at 5 a.m. and turn down the volume on the baby monitor for two or three more early morning minutes in an attempt to pretend her kids aren’t awake.
I am not the first mom to watch her house go from sparkling to smashed to smithereens before she’s had her first sip of coffee.
I am not the first mom to wage war on what kid gets which sippy cup because they always want the blue one … until their sibling has the red one.
I am not the first mom to incite a meltdown due to the careless way she left the crust on her child’s piece of toast.
I am not the first mom who would willingly rip off her right arm to get “Everything is Awesome” out of her head.
I am not the first mom who used to dream of Johnny Depp and now dreams of Curious George.
I am not the first mom to raise her voice to her kids and feel absolutely awful about it.
I am not the first mom to give her children their daily dose of vegetables via a handy dandy pouch.
I am not the first mom to learn it’s time to reign in her tongue when she gets angry because her two-year-old dropped a four-letter word—in perfect context—in the grocery store.
I am not the first mom to fake digestive disruption in order to hide in the bathroom for longer than usual.
I am not the first mom to look forward to the first day of school … even though her oldest is only two.
I am not the first mom to cry into her coffee from pure exhaustion.
I am not the first mom to have a freshly bathed toddler run into the kitchen and pee all over her freshly mopped floor.
I am not the first mom to eat the non-masticated leftovers from her kids’ plates and consider it lunch.
I am not the first mom to feel like she’s screwing up her kids for life and has started wondering if, instead of a college fund, she should be saving for therapy instead.
I am not the first mom to feel like she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. Ever.
There have been millions of moms before me who have survived and raised children that have changed the world — or at least become functioning members of society. Likewise, there will be a million moms after me who will feel weak beneath the same heavy burdens of motherhood. We’re all in this together. I know your pain and you know mine. And, while misery loves company, there is also safety in numbers.
Let’s all band together and remember we are not the first moms to struggle. Let’s all hold our heads up high because we know we’re doing the best job we can.
Let’s all look in the mirror every morning and remind ourselves that, despite the tears and fears and worry, we are damn good moms.
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