I tied the knot just two months before I stumbled upon Pinterest, right at the peak of the barn wedding craze. The moment I discovered a more efficient way to plan my wedding than sorting through endless folders in my browser was infuriating. There were s’mores stations, homemade jam favors, floating paper lanterns, and an overwhelming sea of mason jars. It was stunning but also made my eye twitch uncontrollably.
As time passed, I amassed thousands of pins. I envisioned my dream house complete with slides instead of stairs, and I collected enough dinner recipes to ensure I wouldn’t eat the same slow cooker meal twice during an entire presidential term. With thoughts of babies on the horizon, I was enchanted by meticulously crafted nursery designs that made my heart race.
Then I got pregnant. Suddenly, my fantasy nursery pinboard became a reality, and in nine months, I would have a lovely nursery to tend to while navigating the challenges of new motherhood. However, the morning sickness of my first trimester kept me glued to the floor beside my toilet (which I had cleaned with a Pinterest-endorsed concoction of organic vinegar and eco-friendly bleach, sprayed from a vintage perfume bottle). The perfect nursery I had envisioned morphed about nine times throughout my pregnancy. In my third trimester, bloated and irritable, I barked orders at my husband about the spacing of the chevron stripes he was painting on the walls, while my swollen fingers struggled to crochet absurdly impractical stuffed animals for a newborn.
The night before my induction, I frantically arranged bookshelf displays, turning down a lovely dinner outing with my husband to embroider an organic cotton onesie, ensuring our baby would be Instagram-ready for my modest following. I even lost sleep fretting over the Dr. Seuss quote I had chosen to hang on the wall, questioning if it was the right call.
The following months became a blur, but as my son aged, I began pinning again, this time for his first birthday party. I was determined to throw the best celebration for a child who wouldn’t even remember it. The theme? A non-theme inspired by a blurry image of city lights. I envisioned healthy snacks, a carefully curated tablescape, and hand-lettered cards with clever names for everything. Meanwhile, I remembered how our mothers used to swing by party stores and grab a few noisemakers and candy for our birthday bashes. Yet here I was, sewing a birthday crown at 3 a.m. because that’s the expectation now.
This was my breaking point—I vowed to never get sucked into Pinterest again. As a grown adult who sometimes struggles to find the energy to floss, I was expected to create bento lunches and clean my home with essential oils? No thanks. I would rather tell my child to watch Netflix while I spritz my yoga pants with Febreze before rewearing them, rather than spend time assembling a sensory box filled with dried pasta and beans, which would inevitably end up vacuumed from my home for months. I’d order pizza for dinner because even if it took longer than 30 minutes to prepare, it would still arrive faster than anything I could make from scratch. I’d stick with store-bought cleaning supplies instead of concocting my own with fancy ingredients because I prefer cleanliness over potential E. coli contamination. Most importantly, I refused to waste time on trivial pursuits designed to one-up other moms under the guise of “super-parenting.”
When my son started preschool, I was clear with other parents: when it was my turn to provide snacks, I’d simply toss in some cheese sticks and grapes. No grape cutting for me—kids need to learn to chew like normal humans! And if a gluten-free fruit kabob resembling Olaf made an appearance, I would not hesitate to challenge that nonsense.
For my son’s next birthday, we opted for an indoor play venue reminiscent of Chuck E. Cheese, but sans the arcade games. I went to bed at a reasonable hour the night before and brought nothing except store-bought cupcakes topped with vibrant frosting. The kids devoured pizza, guzzled juice, and ran wild like they were at a mini frat party. At the end of the day, we left without cleaning a thing, and my son had a blast while I enjoyed leftover pizza. I proudly proclaimed to anyone who would listen, “I bought the decorations at Target!”
In embracing this laid-back approach, I found joy in my role as a mother. Ignoring the pressure to perform has made me happier. The bar is set low, which makes it easy for me to exceed expectations when I do choose to put effort into something special. My point isn’t to avoid creativity altogether; it’s about reserving that energy for occasions that truly matter. So, let’s forget the needless competition. You can’t get caught up in the Mommy Wars if you’re enjoying a drink with the cool kids under the bleachers.
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In summary, I’ve realized that letting go of unrealistic expectations surrounding motherhood has made me a more content parent. Embracing simplicity allows me to cherish the special moments without the overwhelming pressure of DIY perfection.