Do you ever feel like all you're good for is wiping small butts, making sure diapers are changed, cleaning peanut butter off the windows because you gave the little runt a spoonful to keep him occupied while you answered the phone call from your Dad, and the little monster decided it was good fingerpaint? Do you ever feel like the most you've eaten in weeks is cold chicken nuggets, spoonfuls of mac and cheese, swiped spoonfuls of nutella, and gol-darn-it, your "best" yoga pants are getting tight? Do you feel like the only mom who rushes her kids through target with a time-saving list based on how the store is laid out, but you still end up with a screaming toddler, a missing 4 year old, and a kid whining for lego sets while you look longingly at the coffee leisurely carried by the fabulous put-together business woman with a gorgeous hair blowout wearing boots carrying a Target basket under her arm containing beautiful stationery that won't get torn to shreds by the runt, beautiful woolly socks not claimed by the teenager, fancy shampoo that won't get used as bubble bath by the 4 year old, and organic berries that won't get thrown at the kids in the backseat as "hush food" on the way home? Do you find smashed crackers and sticky suckers stuck in the fibers of your brand new rug that you *just* bought and vow to torture and kill the inventor of Dum Dum suckers? Do you clean out your vehicle and find the answer to the ungodly smell was a rotten cheese stick, 345 stiff french fries, 3 greyish brown limp socks, a fistful of goldfish crackers, and a flaccid yogurt tube? Do you stumble to your bedroom, bleary-eyed, after the 186th narration of "The excavator digs" and the 24th cup of water and the 7th retelling of the reason why Sarah at school is a mean poopy head and they are NOT BFF's anymore, and find out that your kids were actually dumping glitter in your rugs when you thought they were actually being nice and playing quietly? Do you ever feel alone in the trenches of motherhood?
You're not alone. Us mothers feel like we fight a lonely fight on the homefront, defending our sanity and our individuality as women, trying to resist succumbing to the mom-jean wearing, teddy bear sweatshirt wearing, PTA volunteering, bake sale baking, stained zombie shadows of our former selves.
I'm there with you. This is "The Blur." Everything seems to be spinning out of control, so fast, and the days go by way too quickly.
I still wear my maternity robe, even though my youngest is over 2 years old. I haven't had a "hairstyle" other than a bun or ponytail in over 10 years. My favorite pants? 100% stretchy. I have a permanent worry line in the center of my forehead. I don;t wear jewelry because earrings may get pulled out of my ears, necklaces may choke me or break from a toddler pulling on my neck, and rings, including my wedding ring might scratch tender skin during a diaper change. I have forgotten to change out of my stained, holey, saggy butt sweat pants when rushing out the door to pick up milk for the 2 year old who still! takes a bottle at night. I rush to put a healthy home cooked meal on the table each and every night because all the magazines and books say that family meals are so important, even though it takes 2 hours to make, and 10 minutes of sometimes unbearable family togetherness and chaos to wolf down.
I get it. I'm not going to even add the obligatory line in posts like this- you know the one- "But it's ok, the hugs and kisses make up for all of it.." Because you know what? After a really hard, challenging, looong day, sometimes it doesn't.
Sometimes you still want to run away. To Mexico. Away from to-do lists and homework, and boy scouts and bake sales and sports practice and driver's ed and family dinners and trying to look sexy for your husband on 4 hours of interrupted sleep and being patient with the dog who rips apart the garbage and scatters it throughout the yard and trying to dress your kids like the adorable pictures of your mom friends' kids you see on Facebook, and trying to do cool crafts like the moms you see on Pinterest......all while looking at your children lovingly like the Rice Krispie commercials...
You know what? It's ok if you still want to run away. It's ok if your life isn't picture perfect. That's ok. It's really ok. It doesn't make you a horrible mom. It makes you a real one. And just to pop the hole in that perfection balloon, no mom has it all together, even if it appears that way. It's time to shatter that illusion.
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