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.