Dear Mom,
I’ve observed you in various situations. I’ve watched you lose your temper at your kids in public, neglect them at the playground, and show up at preschool drop-off still in yesterday’s pajamas. I’ve seen you pleading, bribing, and even threatening your children. I’ve witnessed heated exchanges with your partner, your parents, and even that police officer at the crosswalk.
I’ve seen you running around with your little ones, getting messy, and occasionally letting out a curse when you bump your knee. I’ve seen you share a milkshake with a hyperactive four-year-old and wipe your child’s nose with your hand, only to smear it on your jeans. I’ve watched you carry your toddler in the crook of your arm while chasing after a runaway ball.
I’ve also seen you grit your teeth while your child screams about practicing piano, soccer, or whatever else. I’ve seen you close your eyes, taking deep breaths after discovering a gallon of milk spilled in your trunk. I’ve seen you in tears, scrubbing crayon marks off your favorite designer bag, pacing in front of your house in frustration.
I’ve seen you in the hospital waiting room and at the pharmacy counter, looking exhausted and anxious. In fact, I see you every single day.
I don’t know if you always envisioned yourself as a parent or if it was a surprise that turned your life upside down. I’m not sure if motherhood meets your expectations, or if, in those first few days, you were terrified of never feeling that “motherly love” you imagined. I don’t know about your struggles with infertility, pregnancy loss, or a challenging birth. I don’t know if your child was born from your own body or if you welcomed them into your family in another way.
But I understand a lot about you.
I know you didn’t receive everything you desired. I know you’ve gained a wealth of experiences you never knew you wanted until they appeared. You often doubt your efforts, thinking you could do better, but I assure you, you’re doing far better than you realize.
When you look at your children, you see a reflection of yourself. Yet, you also see a stranger who doesn’t grasp why the little things that mattered to you are bothersome to this little person who resembles you.
I know you sometimes fantasize about throwing a lamp at your teenager or tossing your three-year-old out the window in frustration. I understand that some nights, when the house finally quiets down, you curl up in bed and cry. Other times, though exhausted and burdened by unmet expectations, you hold it together.
Some days are so challenging that you just want them to end. But at bedtime, when your kids embrace you, shower you with affection, and express their desire to be like you, you wish the day could stretch on forever.
Yet, it never does. Each day concludes, ushering in new challenges: fevers, heartbreak, art projects, new friends, new pets, and arguments. Every day, you fulfill your responsibilities. You manage the household, whether that means going to work, preparing meals, gardening, or strapping the baby to your back while vacuuming.
You drop everything to mediate disputes over who gets to use a specific marker, to kiss a scraped knee, or to discuss the color of lipstick Pinocchio’s mother wears. I know you engage in tickle fights, have memorized the texts of countless picture books, and dance wildly when it’s just you and your kids. You have no qualms about farting or belching in front of them, and you create silly songs about peas, potatoes, and cheese.
I know that an hour past bedtime, you momentarily set aside chores to clip your three-year-old’s nail that they insist is the source of their sleeplessness. You abandon dishwashing to join your kids for a tea party. I know you’ve fed your children peanut butter and jelly for four consecutive days while battling the flu. I see you eating leftover crusts over the sink while they watch their favorite show.
You probably didn’t anticipate most of this: the profound love, the disdain for your post-baby body, the exhaustion, and the person you’ve become as a mother.
You thought you had it all figured out or felt completely unprepared. You may have hired the perfect nanny or quit your job to assemble baby furniture. You might feel conflicted, as if nothing has changed, while also reflecting on your choices as if someone else has taken your place.
You are not a perfect mom, no matter how hard you try or what you do. Perfection may haunt you, or perhaps you’ve come to terms with it, or maybe it was never a concern for you.
Regardless of your actions, there will always be more to do. Even on days when you feel like you’ve done little, your children still feel your love. They look at you with belief in your ability to fix nearly anything. Despite challenges at work, school, or playgroup, you do everything in your power to ensure your children wake up happy, healthy, and wise.
There’s an old Yiddish saying: “There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has that child.” Unfortunately, perfect parents don’t exist. Your kids will grow up vowing to be different from you, claiming they won’t force their children into piano lessons or will be stricter or more lenient, or will have more or fewer kids—or none at all.
Despite any perceived flaws, you are doing better than you think.
One day, your kids will be running around, making a mess, and someone will approach you, commenting on what a beautiful family you have. You might be at the park, where your kids are smeared with mud and sticky with jam, and a pregnant woman might smile at you with longing.
No matter your doubts, remember this: you will never be perfect. And that’s perfectly fine because neither is your child. No one else can care for them the way you do—with your unique understanding and experiences. Nobody knows the meaning behind their cries or their laughter better than you.
So, since no mother is flawless, you’re likely in a tie for Best Mom in the World.
Congratulations, Best Mom in the World. You’re not perfect—but you’re as good as it gets.
With affection,
Me
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In summary, motherhood is a complex journey filled with challenges, emotions, and moments of joy that define who you are. Embrace the imperfections, for they make your parenting experience uniquely yours.