My motherhood progression from one child to four:
Stage 1/ Child 1: Still put together, still have my "single and rockin'" body. My child wears all the latest trends in clothes and sits in all the newest gadgets, which, as a first time Mom, I have carefully researched and obsessed over. I take long, 3 hour lunches with all my new Mom friends where we complain about the lack of sleep and whether our babies are hitting their milestones at the same time as their classmates. I maintain willpower and restraint when I walk into my latest charity organization and bypass the fresh bagels and cream cheese for a plate of the freshly cut fruit. I feel good. I got this parenting with balance thing figured out.
Stage 2/Child 2: Still fitting into half my pre-baby outfits and worrying about whether my kids coordinate or not. I still linger over long lunches, arrange for all day play-dates to Disneyland, keep strict naptime schedules and refuse to be daunted by the grocery store experience with 2 kids in a cart. Tired, but enthusiastic about parenting.
Stage 3/ Child 3: I'm ignoring the bulging waistline threatening to relegate my favorite pair of pre-baby jeans to a life at the back of the closet. I snag that bagel and cream cheese and wrap 2 more for the road at the one charity meeting I've managed to attend in the last 4 months. My laugh sounds a little high pitched and my conversational efforts slightly alarming probably because of the barely noticeable twitch I've developed in my right eye.
Stage 4 /What's the child count?: If it's not spandex, I'm not wearing it. If it's not online, I'm not buying it. If lunch last 3 minutes with butts in seats, I can count the day victorious. I'm wondering if my kids know yet that the doors to get back in the house are locked and if it will buy me enough time to shave my legs. It doesn't. I put the diaper bag over one shoulder, my purse over the other, the baby on one hip and grab a bite of leftover waffle in syrup with my teeth from Kenzie's breakfast plate still on the Dining Room table. Three children, self-dressed in mismatched, clashing outfits from Target or the "hand-me-down" store, race for the tank of a minivan that has recently replaced my sporty, cool quotient MDX. I shake off the haze of sleeplessness that has settled into my head and bones over the past 5 months and think about my favorite pair of pre-baby blue jeans sitting at the back of my closet.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
I am perfect
I am perfect..if your definition of perfect is a mother of 4, rarely on time, still carrying 5 lbs from each of her 4 pregnancies (you do the math), lets her son wear his sister's clothes to the neighbor's house, often offers unfiltered, awkward commentary in front of other mothers and just looked up how much it would cost to prime ship a bulk pack of Mike and Ike's from Amazon (that's not normal. I'm not still pregnant).
I am also perfectly honest about being imperfect. I come from a long line of perfectly imperfect women and we'd be the first to publicly list our shortcomings. I meet many Moms who would never admit to their imperfections. In fact, most find it hard to acknowledge they may not always have it pulled together. I do not understand this unwritten rule of superficial over-achieving. There are entire days when I don't think it wise that I get out of bed, let alone engage my children in our daily routine of warfare. But, now, in addition to suiting up for my at-home combat, I find I should also steel myself for the away-from-home interactions with other mothers.
When I was 14, I jumped at the chance to attend high school 3000 miles from home because I believed it would provide a refuge from the social cliques of junior high school girls. Now I know, high school is high school regardless of where you go and our many insecurities undergo constant transformations in the name of conformity and materialism regardless of our age. I thought graduating to the world of motherhood would be different. Aren't we all relegated to the same 9 months of discomfort, bodily dysfunctions and general gracelessness that comes with pregnancy? Shouldn't we all be humbled by the lack of control we exert over our body at that time and continually defeated by the emotional imbalance of parenting at all times? I am not promoting we all abandon social propriety, but whatever happened to a little humility? Why would you choose to carry a Louis Vuitton diaper bag instead of a sense of humor?
PTA meetings these days are filled with enough mothers who avoid the open box of glazed donuts, who just showered from the 5k they ran that morning and texted their manicurist that they need an emergency appointment to fix a snagged nail that got caught closing the zipper on their designer jeans. Where's the PTA with the women who fight for the last of the glazed donuts, chalk up their sprint to the coffee line as their only source of exercise for the day and proudly admire the crayola colored manicure their 3-year-old gave them after they had to hide the nail polish so she wouldn't paint the ottoman again? Put me in a room with women who introduce themselves with a little honesty. "I'm Patty and this morning while my kindergartener screamed 'I hate you, Mom, I hate you!' I wondered why they make muzzles for dogs, but not toddlers." I would raise tons of money with those women any day.
Since perfecting how not to look imperfect is the reigning mindset, I should be better about what I say and how much I reveal. Withholding my imperfections has never been my strength, though (4 kids should tell you that) and the rules of social protocol should stay squarely on the shoulders of those mothers who can balance being perfect in addition to being a Mom. I'm not one of them.
I am also perfectly honest about being imperfect. I come from a long line of perfectly imperfect women and we'd be the first to publicly list our shortcomings. I meet many Moms who would never admit to their imperfections. In fact, most find it hard to acknowledge they may not always have it pulled together. I do not understand this unwritten rule of superficial over-achieving. There are entire days when I don't think it wise that I get out of bed, let alone engage my children in our daily routine of warfare. But, now, in addition to suiting up for my at-home combat, I find I should also steel myself for the away-from-home interactions with other mothers.
When I was 14, I jumped at the chance to attend high school 3000 miles from home because I believed it would provide a refuge from the social cliques of junior high school girls. Now I know, high school is high school regardless of where you go and our many insecurities undergo constant transformations in the name of conformity and materialism regardless of our age. I thought graduating to the world of motherhood would be different. Aren't we all relegated to the same 9 months of discomfort, bodily dysfunctions and general gracelessness that comes with pregnancy? Shouldn't we all be humbled by the lack of control we exert over our body at that time and continually defeated by the emotional imbalance of parenting at all times? I am not promoting we all abandon social propriety, but whatever happened to a little humility? Why would you choose to carry a Louis Vuitton diaper bag instead of a sense of humor?
PTA meetings these days are filled with enough mothers who avoid the open box of glazed donuts, who just showered from the 5k they ran that morning and texted their manicurist that they need an emergency appointment to fix a snagged nail that got caught closing the zipper on their designer jeans. Where's the PTA with the women who fight for the last of the glazed donuts, chalk up their sprint to the coffee line as their only source of exercise for the day and proudly admire the crayola colored manicure their 3-year-old gave them after they had to hide the nail polish so she wouldn't paint the ottoman again? Put me in a room with women who introduce themselves with a little honesty. "I'm Patty and this morning while my kindergartener screamed 'I hate you, Mom, I hate you!' I wondered why they make muzzles for dogs, but not toddlers." I would raise tons of money with those women any day.
Since perfecting how not to look imperfect is the reigning mindset, I should be better about what I say and how much I reveal. Withholding my imperfections has never been my strength, though (4 kids should tell you that) and the rules of social protocol should stay squarely on the shoulders of those mothers who can balance being perfect in addition to being a Mom. I'm not one of them.
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