I’m A Mother, Don’t Side Eye Me
There are those that never raise their voices and always make sure the food groups are represented at dinner. Some even limit tablet time and have never sworn in front of their offspring.
Then, there is me. I am a mother. A single mother. Doing her best just like ever other mother. I am a good mother. I’m convinced I’m not the only one of my kind.
Being raised by a single mother most of my life, it seemed only fitting that I would be blessed with a blonde darling of my own. Since the day she was born, I have wanted to be the perfect mom, but I’m here to tell you, I am definitely not her. She doesn’t exist, regardless of what you see on Facebook. She’s just a good photo editor and caption writer. She yells too. She has tried to drown herself in more than one bottle of a Columbia Valley red wine blend. She has cried at her overwhelming sense of responsibility.
I learned quickly and threw away every parenting magazine I had originally subscribed to. The “ideal” parenting situation never applied to me. The added stress of trying to fit in to the mold a book was casting was making me angry at the world. Give me a real world article about a mom who leaves the house and forgets a damn shoe or the one who’s kid told her teacher her mom needed to buy “tampens.” (It was cute that she said it like that at first, now, not so much.) Those women are my spirit animals.
If she chooses pizza rolls for the fourth night in a row, that’s ok. Wanna wear the Batgirl costume to the grocery store? Whatever. Screaming obsenities from the bedroom over a left behind Olaf that is now lodged in my ass from where I sat on it? Hey, it happens. These are all normal and happy child things. And battles I choose not to fight as a mother.
There’s no guide to raising these tiny humans and anyone who tells you that it isn’t a daunting task is an asshole. My daughter is a wonderful child. So full of love and life. I must be doing something right. Right?