I see you there overachieving extramural mom and I want to let you know I’m a judging you too! that’s right. No Longer will I hide from you for fear of PTA engagements that I will be forced to commit to and then not have the time to actually attend, therefore further enhancing my crappy mommy status. No longer will I pretend to know what the fuck a scoby is or feel bad because my kid is the one with mis-matched socks. every time. No longer will I sensor my jokes around you and your posse. Today I will not nod and smile when you again recount the 99 uses for coconut oil, because for the sake of sweet fuck, enough already. I am tired of conforming. I’m tired of reigning in my crazy because I have now reproduced. I’m a great fucking mother. Im also messy, and many more times than not, inappropriately dressed for any given occasion.
The media is slaughtering us common mammas back here. I feel like if I was parenting in the 80s, I would be labelled a capable, solid caregiver, but thanks to the pinterest world and the celebrity tofu chomping earth mommsies, I’m fucked. I can’t help it, I honestly cannot physically prepare toddler meals on Sundays. Sunday is not kiddie meal prep day. I’m not sure what this Sunday will look like in my house but it sure as hell will not be me preparing any weekly meals.
Last week I met a mum at the park.
I noticed her explaining to a 1 year old, in full adult sentences, how it is not appropriate to sit ones bottom directly in the sandpit, where actual live viruses lived, but rather on a (handmade) custom baby butt towel. Later mum almost lost a limb frantically attempting to save baby mid sand chomp. Madam Continued to shovel gravel into her cute little mouth, and mum continued to pounce and then repeatedly explain the digestive systems limitations in a diagnostic even I had trouble following. For once I just giggled to myself, I did not worry that I was not parenting “correctly” or listen in for tips on how to do it right . I chuckled and went back to reading a horrifically awesome gossip magazine whilst my children frolicked in the sandy abyss of digestive death. I’m tired of taking all the crap up in here. Yes, my kids are probably eating too much sugar. Yes, I have heard sugar is the cocaine of our times. Yes, i’m useless at toilet training. I couldn’t actually give a crap about encouraging another person to crap correctly. Yes, my kids extra mural schedule is non existent at best, yes bedtime in my house is a fucking nightmare of chaos and pleading and god forbid, parents lying in beds with restless little bodies that elude sleep like Satan avoids the Sabbath. But bedtime is always preceded by spontaneous walks, picnics in the garden, bike rides, family movie extravaganzas, or dinosaur chases.
Don’t hate on me mama trolls, I think you organized mamas are truly magnificent and mythical and, It must be said, I am grateful AF for your handmade bag of organic wet wipes that you will generously lend me at the supermarket when my toddler pisses in the isle.
But I too have happy kids, I have a healthy marriage and I also mom so fucking hard