There are days when I whip up organic fruit smoothies for my son, lovingly blended to perfection; and then there are days when he munches on Honey Nut Cheerios that have become one with the unwashed kitchen floor.
Some mornings, I rise before my little one, shower, and dress in something other than pajamas, ready to face the world outside my home. Other days, it’s all about the elastic waistband, a quick spritz of deodorant instead of a shower, and canceling plans that involve any form of social interaction beyond my front porch.
Sometimes I find joy in building block towers, reading stories, and singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” on the floor with my son; at other times, I’m counting down the hours until his bedtime, feeling drained from entertaining a baby for what feels like an eternity.
On occasion, I dash upstairs to scoop him from his crib the moment I hear him stir from his nap; yet, there are moments when I crave just three more minutes of silence, choosing to let him wait while I sit at the kitchen table, doing absolutely nothing.
When my partner returns from work, there are days when the dishes are clean, the floor is vacuumed, and dinner is simmering on the stove. Other times, the sink and dishwasher resemble a Leaning Tower of dishes, the floor is a minefield of crushed Goldfish, and I’m pleading with him to order takeout, despite our tight budget, just so I can avoid cooking one more meal this week.
Sometimes I put my phone aside, fully immersing myself in playtime with my son; other times, I’m distracted by articles about parenting and totally ignore him. There are moments when I put him down for a nap and become a productivity machine—writing blog posts, washing dishes, folding laundry—while other days, I cuddle him in bed for a delightful two-hour nap, waking up to a mountain of unfinished tasks.
There are instances when I feel confident in my unique approach to motherhood, unfazed by how other moms are doing it; yet, sometimes I find myself comparing my thighs to the skinnier mom in the checkout line or envying another family’s lavish vacation to Jamaica that we can’t afford.
I often feel incredibly fortunate to be home with my son every day; however, there are times when I just wish someone needed me for something more significant than slicing food into bite-sized pieces or retrieving a block wedged under the coffee table.
I embody a multitude of contradictions as a mother. In any given moment, I can be a completely different version of myself than I was just seconds ago. I am flawed and inconsistent, capable yet inept, a vibrant canvas painted with a million different colors.
But even in my moments of confusion, laziness, and uncertainty, I am always a good mother. And so are you. Even if your child consumes red dye #40, you find a Facebook thread about Ryan Gosling more engaging than your baby, or you lose your cool because someone barged in on you in the bathroom for the tenth time today. You’re still a good mom; you’re just not perfect. After all, everyone gets it right sometimes.
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In conclusion, motherhood is a beautiful blend of chaos and joy, with each day presenting new challenges and triumphs. Embrace the journey and remember that perfection is not the goal—love and effort are what truly matter.