When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I wanted to be the perfect mother. I spent the first few years hurrying milestones – because if you’ve ever sat around a table with new moms, or old moms, or really ANY MOMS – that’s what the fuss is all about. “Can you believe my baby is walking at 7 months?! She is SO TALL. She is SO BIG. He already has his first tooth! He’s only 2 and he’s reading the Bible!” Blah. Blah. Blah.
Don’t mistake my blahs for I don’t cares. On the contrary, I cared TOO MUCH. I admit I was that mom constantly comparing. I think that innately, as mothers, we want our children to be the cutest one in the room. The most outgoing. The smartest. The funniest. The kindest. The most thoughtful. The most generous. But who are we kidding?! We UNKNOWINGLY take the pressure on our shoulders, and directly place it on the shoulders of the one we love the most. (That can be said for other relationships as well – but we won’t go there tonight). Expectations that are so far out of reach that they cause distress to our perfect little ideas of who our children should be.
My daughter is a direct reflection of who I am – plus or minus her own weird quirks that I don’t quite understand. But here is what I know. Life is fucking messy. Just because I’m not the smartest, doesn’t mean I’m not smart. Just because I’m not the prettiest, doesn’t mean I’m not pretty. Just because I’m not the funniest, doesn’t mean I’m not funny. Just because bad things happen to me, doesn’t mean I’m a bad person or cursed (Even though I felt like that for the better part of my twenties.)
Life is not absolute – there is a continuum where most of us lie somewhere in the middle and it’s important that we can embrace our flaws, be proud of our strengths, and emphasize resilience.
This is where One Flawsome Momma originated. It was a moment of clarity for me. I began motherhood wanting to be perfect, and through the years I have realized that perfection impedes acceptance. I believe myself to be a good mother – but damn do I fuck it up sometimes. I question my sanity and my abilities. But I also allow my daughter to witness my humanity. To witness mistakes and moods and heartache. In turn, she gets to watch me learn from my mistakes and to endure through the rollercoaster of life. It’s those moments where I’m building resilience in myself, and I know I’m setting a realistic foundation for her. A foundation where it’s acceptable to be human.
Cheers to all my Flawsome Mommas’! Let’s rid ourselves of perfect expectations for imperfect acceptance.
One Flawsome Momma