Perfectly Me

Hey moms out there. Do you see me? Yeah, that’s me waving the white flag. I. Give. Up.

I’m tired of trying to be something I’m not. And so today, I scream from the mountain top: “I am who I am, and I can’t be who I’m not.”

So yeah. That’s me.

The one at the store in my pjs. Because we just needed milk and it was 10pm. Just be glad my pajama top is dark colored; I’m not wearing a bra.

And yeah, that’s me.

The one whose kid is eating all sorts of snacks during Mass. Yes, I have an assortment of goodies in his bag, with hopes that feeding him constantly will allow my husband and I to both remain in church for Mass. I promise I’ll pick up the crumbs on the floor when it’s over – well, at least, the big crumbs, anyways.

And yeah, that’s me.

With the high schooler who walks out of the house in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and flip flops when it is 35 degrees outside. He’s a big boy, and he can dress himself. I think he’s crazy for dressing like that, but I did not see what he was wearing until he got to school. I guess it’s warm in the school building.

And yeah, that’s me.

Racing through Target to pick up everything on the list while my toddler is Houdini-in-training, learning how to escape the shopping cart seat belt. And, yes, you did see me open the box of graham crackers and give him one … in the store, before I paid.

And yeah, that’s me.

Picking up my kid at daycare at 5:45 pm, almost ten hours after I dropped him off. I stayed late at work to finish a project so that I wouldn’t have to do work at home. Please don’t judge my love of my infant on the hours I spend at work. I’m trying to juggle the best I can.

I used to wish I could be you.

Yeah, you.

The one who sent their kid with homemade crafts for Valentine’s Day and freshly baked goodies for birthday treats.

The one whose kids look so cute in their coordinating Gymboree outfits, hair combed, and two shoes on their feet.

The one whose toddler sits nicely in the cart at the grocery store while you scour for the perfect organic tomato for tonight’s salad.

The one who has time to read adult books with no pictures with words that don’t rhyme.

The one who stops at the store to pick up a few things, but you’re all put together…and your hair is combed.

The one who still breastfeeds your ten month old, with a milk supply that would make a cow envious.

The one whose kids all look at the camera and smile when you are capturing the moment, just because you say, “Smile.”

The one who never looks frazzled, whose kids always seem to behave.

But, I’m not you. I’m me. And what I’m learning is that I don’t need to set “you” as my standard, because I’ll never be “you”. I’m finally realizing (and accepting) that I’m perfect at being me. My kids are fed. My kids are happy. My kids know they are loved. Isn’t that all that matters?

So, when you see me at the store wearing the same yoga pants I had on yesterday, with spit up on my sweatshirt and a baseball cap on to hide my uncombed hair, just smile and think, “At least she has a bra on this time.”

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