I promised I would write this post a while ago and I’ve found it tough to write without sounding bitter-hopefully I’ve found the right tone.
We all know one. The mom who has a spotless house, a happy kid who has only ever eating organic food, who stamps the wrapping paper on gifts they give to friends, who always seems to know the right answer to a tough question, an age-appropriate way to deal with difficult news, who just seems to have it more together than you. If they weren’t such an awesome woman, you’d hate her. As it stands, you kind of just want to follow her around with a video camera and a notepad since she seems to just get more done, and done far better than you. In short, you kind of want to be them when you grow up as a parent.
While I like Martha Stewart and occasionally find a kick ass recipe on her website, in her magazine or cookbooks, I comfort myself with the knowledge that she has a staff of many. But it’s these genuinely real, genuinely awesome moms who just seem more on top of things than me.
For example, in order to write this post, I am letting my daughter wrinkle pages in a guidebook because she finds it fun and it’s distracting. Strike that, she just ripped a page, so I substituted her toy camera for the book. Why didn’t I just give her the camera first? Because it was on the floor out of reach and I’m lazy.
But to return to my point-I am not one of those uber moms.
My house is often a disaster; if we didn’t have physical therapy and Early Intervention over regularly, it would look far worse than it does. Sadly, it’s almost always in better condition than my home was previous to having a baby, so my slovenly ways are in no way to be blamed on the baby.
I don’t get dinner made every night. It’s a good week when I make a real dinner three times with the other nights being a mixture of a weekly dinner at my in-laws, restaurants and fending for ourselves with various frozen and/or microwaveable substances that pass for food. Not because I can’t cook (previous entries about burning fried chicken on the outside and raw at the center should be overlooked for the purpose of this sentence) but because the effort is a problem. Either going out to buy fresh meat and fruit/veggies and then dragging it all upstairs with baby in tow is an issue or I miss the time window for something easy like a crock pot recipe and then have issues with a more intensive prep because my hellion is into everything. More to the point, if I want to cook dinner, the kitchen isn’t the only room that will look like a bomb went off in it; the living room will too after Elanor is done playing.
I seem incapable of getting out of the house in a reasonable amount of time. I’m almost always late, and when I’m ready to go on time, Elanor always chooses that time to reflux or to have a diaper blowout or I realize I have no clean sippys and have to wash them or something happens. If we’re both ready to go, my husband is the one keeping us waiting. It seems to be a an impossible task to have the three of us ready to go anywhere or do anything on time.
I know that to some extent it’s a matter of organization. I excel at creating organizational systems….I fail at maintaining them. But when it comes to these supermoms, it just feels like they’re just more innately gifted at this mom thing. It’s not that I’m a bad mom (calls to poison control not withstanding), it’s just that I don’t have it together like them. It’s like the kid who is writing their first paragraph dreaming of publishing a book, I stand amidst the clutter of my home wishing I had it together enough to be thinking about making my own wrapping paper.