Dear Mom,
I see you. I notice you yelling at your kids in the store, or zoning out while they play at the park. I spot you in your cozy pajamas from last night as you drop your little one off at preschool. I see you bargaining with your children, pleading with them, and sometimes even losing your cool. I’ve witnessed you arguing passionately with your partner, your mother, or even a friendly police officer at the crosswalk.
I’ve seen you running around with your kids, getting your hands dirty, and occasionally letting out a frustrated curse when you bump into something. I’ve seen you share a milkshake with your hyperactive four-year-old, and I’ve watched you wipe your child’s nose with your hand, then awkwardly smear it on your jeans. I’ve seen you carry a toddler draped over your arm as you chase after a wayward ball.
I’ve watched as you grit your teeth while your child protests against practicing piano or soccer (or any other activity you thought was essential). I’ve seen you close your eyes, taking a deep breath after discovering a gallon of milk spilled in your trunk. I’ve noticed you in tears over a designer bag ruined by crayon marks. I’ve seen you pacing back and forth, lost in thought.
I’ve spotted you in hospital waiting rooms, at the pharmacy counter, looking weary and anxious. In fact, I see so much of you every single day.
Whether becoming a mother was a lifelong dream or an unexpected journey, I can’t say. I don’t know if motherhood has lived up to your expectations, or if you were overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty on your first days as a mom. I’m unaware of the struggles you faced, whether with infertility, pregnancy loss, or a difficult birth. What I do know is that you have a depth of experience that shapes who you are as a mother.
You might feel that you haven’t achieved everything you wanted, but I see you gaining treasures you never anticipated. You may doubt your abilities, but I believe you’re doing better than you realize.
When you look at your children, you might see reflections of yourself, but you may also feel that they are strangers, puzzled by the childhood details that mattered so much to you. I know there are moments when you want to toss your teenager out of the window or hurl a lamp at their head. I understand that some nights, after the day has finally quieted down, you curl up in bed and cry, while on other nights, you hold it together despite feeling utterly depleted.
Some days drag on, and you just want them to end. Yet at bedtime, when they hug you and tell you they love you, you wish you could freeze time, even just for a moment. But as always, the day comes to a close, and a new one brings fresh challenges—fevers, friendships, art projects, and the occasional misunderstanding.
You step up because that’s what mothers do. Whether you head to work, throw together a meal in the crock pot, tend to your garden, or strap the baby to your back and clean the house, you tackle it all. You pause everything to mediate arguments over markers, bestow kisses on boo-boos, or engage in conversations about the color of Pinocchio’s mom’s lipstick.
You share tickle fights in blanket forts and have the words to your children’s favorite picture books memorized. I know you dance like no one is watching when it’s just you and them, and you let out silly songs about vegetables without a hint of embarrassment.
I know you’ve fed your kids PB&J for four days straight when you were sick. I see you eating leftover crusts over the sink while your kids are absorbed in their show.
You likely didn’t foresee most of this—the profound love, the body image struggles, or the relentless exhaustion. You thought you had it all figured out, or maybe you were just navigating in blind fear. Whether you hired the perfect nanny or opted to assemble baby furniture yourself, you find yourself wrestling with the duality of feeling unchanged since your carefree days and the reality of being a mom.
Perfection is a myth; you will never be the perfect mom. This fact might haunt you, or perhaps you’ve made peace with it, or maybe it was never a concern at all. Regardless of how much you do, remember this: your children are still loved. They look at you with awe, believing you have the power to fix everything. No matter what transpired during the day, you devote yourself to ensuring they wake up happy, healthy, and wise.
There’s a saying that goes, “There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has it.” Unfortunately, there are no perfect parents. Your children will grow and vow to be unlike you; they’ll declare they won’t enforce piano lessons or will choose to have more or fewer children than you.
Despite your imperfections, you’re better than you think. One day, amidst the chaos, someone will compliment your beautiful family. At the park, when your kids are covered in mud and jam, a pregnant woman will smile at you, reminiscing about her future.
No matter your doubts, you need to believe this: you are undeniably not perfect. And that’s okay. Because, in truth, neither is your child. No one can nurture them quite like you, equipped with your unique understanding and experiences.
And since no mother is perfect, you’re likely tied for the title of Best Mom in the World with millions of others.
Congrats, Best Mom in the World! You’re as good as anyone could possibly be.
With love,
Me
This article originally appeared on Jan. 14, 2014.
For more information on home insemination, check out this post on advertiser disclosure. Additionally, you can find resources on artificial insemination at Make A Mom. If you’re looking for a comprehensive guide to fertility treatments, UCSF is an excellent resource.
Summary:
This heartfelt letter to mothers acknowledges the daily struggles and triumphs of parenting. It recognizes the imperfections in motherhood and emphasizes that despite the chaos, love prevails. The message conveys that no mother is perfect, yet each one is doing their best and is deserving of recognition.