Perfection

I look back at my first year of motherhood and laugh.  Sometimes it’s a chuckle, but most of the time it’s more of a maniacal cackle.

I tried so hard to be perfect, but that goal was always just out of reach.  I was tremendously overwhelmed, and that’s what makes me laugh the most.  Back then, I had one, easy child who slept an average of 16 hours per day, no job, no social schedule to keep, nothing.  Despite that, my to-do list was a mile long and on top of that, I had set some pretty lofty goals for my infant daughter.  Basically, I made life a million times harder than it had to be. 

Sleep on a schedule?  Check.  Completely nutritious meals, with no exceptions?  Check.  Absolutely no television at any time?  Check.  Exclusively breastfed?  Erm, not quite, but I tried.  No baby-sitters except during nap time?  Check.  Vacuum every speck of dust from the house, every day, even if it takes four hours with the baby strapped in the Bjorn?  Check.

Really, what the hell was I thinking? 

I long to regain all the time I wasted.  I cringe at the amount of pressure I put on myself to reach a completely unattainable goal.  I’m saddened by the amount of time I spent crying because I felt like a failure at  motherhood.  It turns out, I’m completely and utterly normal.  And thank God for that.

I bought a book yesterday at Target, based solely on the fact that I laughed out loud at the title:



It’s entirely true: I was a really good mom before I had kids.  I was also a great nanny, god mom and aunt.  I had an amazing amount of energy, unwavering patience, and always made good, educated decisions when it came to the kids I was with.  I was also full of practical advice for their moms.  I thank them now for not punching me in the face. 

Then my first child was born, and it all went to hell in a hand basket.  Not at first, mind you.  Those first 6 months of motherhood were magical, and I’m not even the kind of person that uses words like “magical”. 

How, exactly, did I get from there to here?  How many buckets of tears have I cried, trying to find the balance between the mother I dreamed I’d be and the mother I hope I am, leaving room for the mother I am on a day-to-day basis?

Despite the fact that I still worry about the choices I make as a parent, I let go of being the perfect mom a long time ago.  Sure, sometimes it creeps up on me when I’m in a certain mode of getting things done.  But if my kids are able to look back from adulthood and say I was a pretty good mom, most of the time, I’ll be happy with that.  

And hot damn, if life isn’t a whole lot nicer when a dirty floor doesn’t make me a bad mother.


* If anyone would like to have this book when I’m done, let me know!  I’m loving it so far. *