It’s okay. I don’t hate you. I’m not mad, or offended, or upset. I don’t think you’re wrong, or assume that just because you disagree with me, you’re a terrible person. I’m not going to attack you, or yell at you, or resort to calling you names. I’m not going to criticize you, or chastise you, or attempt to shame you, or try to make you doubt your choices. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I applaud you for being different and not being afraid to say so. We moms take a LOT of crap on a daily basis. The best thing we can do for ourselves is be confident in our decisions.
I don’t think you’re a bad parent. I’m not sitting idly by judging you. Not when your kid has a tantrum. Not when you have a “bad” parenting moment. Not even when you’re judging yourself and wish that the stage-5 meltdown had happened at home. We’ve all been there. We all wish we’d NEVER been there, but we’ve been there, and no matter how we react, how we handle it, there will be someone out there with judgy eyes, but they aren’t mine. If you catch my looking at you, it isn’t because I’m silently picking apart your decisions as a parent, or thinking about how awful your kid is and how that must mean you’re screwing the whole thing up. I’m looking because I’m thankful that for ONCE it’s not one of mine, and in slight hope that you might catch my glance, and I’d give you a sympathetic smile. Solidarity, sister.
To the mom who disagrees with me, I just ask one thing of you. Don’t judge me, either. As different as we may be, there is one thing I am sure that we have both learned through this parenting journey: we have to pick our battles wisely. Let’s not pick them with each other. Motherhood isn’t a contest. There aren’t official awards handed out, MVP rings, or parades down Main Street in Disneyland. There’s no finish line, and very rarely are there fans on the sideline cheering us on. We need to be those cheerleaders for each other (preferably without the pom-poms).
Person on tv: Age is just a number! 10yo: Yeah, a number that pulls you closer to death.
Party animal over here pic.twitter.com/OVpKPuu4Yc
Proving to my kids that they ARE Friends goo.gl/fb/QbSSNp
Writing my next book Me: My period inspired a whole new chapter! Husband: Your lack of period inspired a whole book... Me: pic.twitter.com/fpNHwnYeAF
The card my kid made me at school. I truly don't know why I expected anything different 😂😂 pic.twitter.com/T7nai0ycqS
Valentine's Day before 4pm and I'm already putting on pajamas because my uterus is bloated to the size of a Buick and erupting like Mount Vesuvius so I guess you could say I'm feeling PRETTY romantic.