Updated: June 26, 2017
Originally Published: May 17, 2014
Sometimes, I lovingly whip up organic fruit smoothies for my son, blending them with care; other times, he munches on Honey Nut Cheerios that have mysteriously adhered to my unkempt floor.
There are mornings when I rise before my son, take a shower, and slip into something other than sweatpants, trying to look somewhat presentable in case I venture outside; then there are days when I choose to wear elastic waist pants, apply deodorant instead of showering, and cancel plans that require me to even step onto the porch.
I occasionally find myself on the floor, building block towers, reading stories, and singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” with enthusiasm; yet there are moments when I simply cannot muster the energy to entertain a baby for a relentless ten hours.
Sometimes I dash upstairs to scoop my son from his crib the instant I hear him stirring from his nap; other times, I crave just three more minutes of silence, allowing him to wait while I sit at the kitchen table doing absolutely nothing.
When my partner arrives home from work, there are days when the dishwasher and sink are spotless, the floors are vacuumed, and dinner is underway; but then there are times when the dishes are piled high, the floor resembles a snack disaster zone, and I plead for takeout, despite it straining our budget—just so I can avoid cooking yet another meal this week.
I sometimes set my phone aside, giving my full attention to my son; then I catch myself lost in articles about parenting, neglecting him entirely.
Occasionally, I put my son down for a nap and become surprisingly productive—writing blog posts, washing dishes, folding laundry; yet there are days when I pull him into bed with me for a blissfully unproductive two-hour nap, waking to a daunting list of unfinished tasks.
Sometimes, I feel completely secure in my unique approach to motherhood, unaffected by comparisons; other times, I can’t help but measure my thighs against those of a slimmer mom in the checkout line or envy another family’s vacation to Jamaica that we can only dream of.
I often feel incredibly fortunate to spend my days at home with my son; yet there are times I wish for a purpose beyond cutting food into tiny pieces or digging out toys stuck under the sofa.
I embody a mother of contradictions; at any moment, I am a different version of myself than I was moments before. I am flawed and inconsistent, both capable and inept, a vibrant canvas filled with myriad shades.
Even in times of laziness or feeling out of my depth, I know I am a good mother. And so are you. Even if your child snacks on red dye #40, you find yourself engrossed in a Facebook thread about Ryan Gosling instead of your baby, or you lose your cool because you’ve been interrupted in the bathroom for the tenth time today. Even then, you are still a good mom; just not a perfect one.
But isn’t that the essence of motherhood? Perfection is elusive. Sometimes, we nail it. Other times, we simply try to get by.
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Summary:
Motherhood is a journey filled with contradictions, where moments of productivity and chaos blend into one another. It’s about embracing the imperfect realities of parenting, understanding that good mothers can feel inadequate at times, and recognizing that perfection is not the goal.