Messy buns. Spit-up stains. Nursing. Baby Mozart in the car. Wiping drool on my sleeve. Weekly trips to Buy Buy Baby. And poop - lots and lots of poop.
This is my life now. And I love it.
Gone are the late nights with friends, spontaneous dates with my dear husband, or lazy Saturday mornings spent sleeping in. No longer is straightened hair a priority. Instead, my days are built around feedings and naps. I don't think twice about catching a string of drool with my hand and then wiping it on my jeans.
In some ways, motherhood is nothing like I pictured. I imagined myself being one of those crafty, bring-my-baby-everywhere, homemaking mamas. Well guess what? I Fail at that. Capital F. I'm lucky if I've showered before 11:00. A day in which I vacuum and make a full dinner is a pretty good day.
So here I am, failing to live up to my own expectations. And that doesn't always sit well with me. I'm not used to failure. I see blogs of moms with 7 kids who cook healthy meals, have spotless homes, exercise every day, sew their kids' clothing, and look as though they've just stepped out of a fashion magazine. And then there's me - one kid who isn't even mobile yet, a handful of recipes that could be classified as "okay," a house that could fool people into thinking we have 7 kids (and not because of size), and a wardrobe of jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops.
Where did I go wrong?
One word - comparison. Like I said, I love my life as a mama. But sometimes it's hard to feel like I am doing a good job when I look around and see other women who have it all together. Why can't I just be like that? But I've decided that I am done pretending to have my act together. That doesn't mean I won't strive to be better, but I won't will try not to beat myself up over my shortcomings, either. Will you join me in accepting, even celebrating, the messiness and imperfections in life?
"Comparison is the thief of joy."
-Theodore Roosevelt
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