I constantly remind myself that all us moms are hot messes, and that some of us are just better at hiding it than others.
I am not one of those people.
Even though I often feel self conscious when I am out in public with baggy jeans and no makeup and my kid has a snotty face and mismatched socks…I still can’t bring myself to take the extra time to make it look like I am a perfect mom. I’d rather sleep. Or eat. Or blog. Or take an extra 5 minutes to sleep/eat/blog on the toilet with the door locked.
As it is, with a kid I can’t get anywhere on time to save my life. I find myself feeling happy…or just mildly content… for getting to the library for story time before it ends and then I look around at the other moms and think, How the frick do you have time to do your hair? How is it that you’re wearing cute clothes and that you don’t even look like you were pregnant 3 months ago?
Sigh. I try not to, but it’s sooooooo hard.
To battle comparing myself to others, I instead have started asking myself one question at the end of each day:
How have I made my life better today?
Usually, I can come up with something. Sometimes, It’s that I made it to yoga. Others, it’s that I sang to my baby and made him smile. Once in a while I bask in the glow of finishing some project and doing a great job – like making Halloween costumes or hanging pictures on the wall to make my house feel more like a home.
Sometimes, I have trouble coming up with something. And that’s when I tell myself that it’s ok, and that I can try again tomorrow. Sometimes all I’ve done is maintain. Sometimes my life got a little worse that day. Not usually, though.
There’s always some good in my day, and I’m trying to highlight it and celebrate it with purpose.
If I can’t do that, then my days start to not feel worth it……and it gets even harder not to compare myself to the public versions of all these other moms. But that’s the important part – to remind myself that the fact that I am a mom means my life is worth it, and that I am only seeing a small version of these moms.
I’m a hot mess. You’re a hot mess. We’re all hot messes. Say it with me.
See you next week at story time. I’ll be the one with the mismatched socks.
It’s NaBloPoMo, where I vomit some words on these pages everyday in the month of November. Bring some paper towels!