I Was A "Better" Parent Before Kids

Let's face it... we are always better parents BEFORE we ever even have children. We look at the kid throwing a screaming fit in the middle of the frozen food section at Walmart and swear we would never tolerate such behavior. I mean, that mom is just ignoring her kid and continuing to shop! *Gasp*

Then your sweet bundle of joy comes along and shows you how terribly you have been. Now instead of judging the mom at the grocery store, you look at her with that sympathetic look that says... I feel ya girl, I feel ya. 

So in honor of that grocery store mom, I have decided to share the top four (delusional) ways that I was a "better" parent before my son was born. 

1. My kid will not eat junk food. 

Ha! My kid eats cheezits and cheerios off the floor. I mean, germs are good for the immune system, right?

2. I am not going to put up all my breakables. I will teach him what is acceptable to play with and what is not. Just like my grandma did us.

😂 I know, this is hilarious, right!?!

3. I will not dump my kid off at Grandma's every chance I get. He's my kid to raise. 

Nope. I get it now. Mom's need those time when the kids are at grandma's so they don't murder anyone. Also so they can eat, sleep, and poop in peace. Who's ready to go see Grandma tonight?

4. I will not "bribe" my child. This is one of those that I completely go against every day. I am constantly negotiating with and bribing my little terrorist. At least goldfish crackers are cheap...

I think it's so funny now, looking back at how absolutely clueless I was. Moms I know you feel me. I know you too look back and giggle at your former resolve and parenting expertise.

And those of you who aren't moms... just know that right now, you are the "best parent" you will ever be! So judge away at my baby throwing a tantrum in the middle of the restaurant while I hang my head in defeat and ask for the check. Judge me for letting him try the chocolate cake or eat the french fries. Judge me for all the times I am selfish and I let him stay with his grandparents on the weekend so I can have a moments peace. Go ahead... I did before I had a kid. 

Confessions of a Stay At Home Mom

It's Monday. The Monday after daylight savings has sprung forward. Not that I could even tell. My 10 month old son doesn't sleep well, so neither do I. I knew that motherhood was going to be hard. Everyone had told me as much and I believed them. I just wasn't prepared for how hard. I wanted a baby so bad and I was going to be the perfect mom and love every minute of it. I had struggled too long to let fussy days and sleepless nights bother me.  

I was stupid. Living in a naïve dream land.  There are days, like today, when it's all too much. The fibromyalgia putting my body through hell, the four dogs that always seem to bark every single time the baby falls asleep for a nap; waking him, the endless list of chores I will never accomplish, and the ridiculous expectations (both of myself and of others) that I will never live up to. I can't work a “normal" job because I am too unreliable so I am a stay at home mom. I am the chick you ignore or make fun of as you scroll through facebook because she sells for a direct sales company. I am the one you judge for always missing social events.  

Today, I hate being me. Today, I hate being a sahm. Today, I just can't take it anymore. I am a failure and I am broken. My body has betrayed me and the constant pain has wore me down. I tell the dogs I am going to get rid of them if they bark again although I never would. I plead with my son, as we both cry in the floor, to just let go of me long enough so that I can put on some pants and maybe go to the bathroom. He doesn't listen. I place him in his crib and walk away as he screams bloody murder and sobs uncontrollably. I put on some pants. Not real ones, but more pjs. Real clothes are rarely worn. I go to the bathroom. My son is still wailing and I think how much of a horrible mother I am. I look in the mirror at my dark circles and a face I barely recognize and completely lose my composure. I am a horrible mother and I do not deserve him. 

I take my son in my arms as we both cry. When he realizes that I have tears streaming down my face, he stops crying. He looks at me with suck intention, puts his tiny hand to me cheek, and smiles. Then he hugs me. In this moment I am overcome with admiration and love for my son. Nothing else matters in that sweet little window of time. Not the bills that are piling up or the mountains of dishes and laundry left undone. Not anything, but those sweet little arms around my neck.  

I have no idea how I am going to do this. How am I suppose to handle the illness, the baby, the dogs, the husband, the bills, the housework? I am not that strong. All I know is that I will. And so we play.