Mommy Confessions

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

I love being a mother, I’d never stray too far from that statement. I have been candid about the fact I think caring for a newborn is ridiculously difficult and I’ve shared my worries with bringing another child into the world when things with the first seem so calm and settled and enjoyable. Not for one second do I think raising these little rascals will always be peaches n’ cream. I’ve shared my feelings about the yin and yang of life, touching on motherhood being about moments in time and perspective. For the most part, I stick to the love story of raising Hooper but surely there are rough patches, exhausting times, and moments where I’ve wondered if I did everything I wanted before having children. It’s only normal, in my opinion. That’s why I practically shit my pants laughing so hard when I read about a segment on the Today show where a blogger turned author discussed what she’s coined “Mommy Confessions”. Some of the confessions are brutally honest, others are just down right funny. Here’s some confessions she shared:
I confess that most days, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Everyone thinks I have it all together — good wife, good mom, successful career — but I really don’t. I’m ready to stop pretending to be perfect now. 
I tried for seven years to get pregnant and now that I’m a mother, I wonder whether it was all worth it. 
If I have to watch Barney one more time, I may have to stick a fork in my eye. Actually, then I’d get some attention. Maybe not such a bad idea. 
I sometimes try to get sick, just so I have an excuse to go to sleep at 6:00 p.m. 
I joined a gym just for the free day care. I drop the kids off and read magazines and blogs in the locker room. 
I pretend to be happy being a stay-at-home mom but sometimes I feel like I’m slowly dying. I cry every night in the shower. This isn’t what I thought it would be. 
I kiss my young teenager good-bye in the morning as she leaves for school, rising above the hormone-fueled snarling and histrionics. Then I close the front door and flip her off, with both hands. 
I miss the career I gave up more than I miss my son when I go to the grocery store. But I always get to go back to him. 
Hidden in the pantry in a box labeled “flour” is top-of-the-line chocolate and a few joints. I rarely resort to it, but it’s a comfort knowing it’s there.
Here’s some of her “Mommy Manifesto” that also had me rolling and nodding in agreeance at the same time:
I shall maintain a sense of humor about all things motherhood, for without it, I recognize that I may end up institutionalized. Or, at the very least, completely miserable.
I shall not judge the mother in the grocery store who, upon entering, hits the candy aisle and doles out M&M’s to her screaming toddler. It is simply a survival mechanism.
I shall not compete with the mother who effortlessly bakes from scratch, purees her own baby food, or fashions breathtaking costumes from tissue paper. Motherhood is not a competition. The only ones who lose are the ones who race the fastest.
I shall shoot the parents of the screaming newborn on the airplane looks of compassion rather than resentment. I am fortunate to be able to ditch the kid upon landing. They, however, are not.
I shall never ask any woman whether she is, in fact, expecting. Ever.
I shall not question the mother who is wearing the same yoga pants, flip-flops, and T-shirt she wore to school pickup the day before. She has good reason.
I shall never claim to know everything about children other than my own (who still remain a mystery to me).
I shall hold the new babies belonging to friends and family, so they may shower and nap, which is all any new mother really wants.
I shall strive to pass down a healthy body image to my daughter. She deserves a mother who loves and respects herself; stretch marks, dimples, cellulite, and all.
I shall not preach the benefits of breast-feeding or circumcision or homeschooling or organic food or co-sleeping or crying it out to a fellow mother who has not asked my opinion. It’s none of my damn business.
I shall try my hardest to never say never, for I just may end up with a loud mouthed, bikini-clad, water gun–shooting toddler of my very own.
I shall remember that no mother is perfect and that my children will thrive because of, and sometimes even in spite of me.
Honestly, all the excerpts are worth posting. You can check out the article yourself here. Definitely a good read. 

Bits + Pieces + Realizations, from Maui

Maui Realizations.
-Traveling with a toddler is hard. Forget about the near impossible task of traveling with a grumpy toddler, traveling with a happy go-lucky busy toddler is almost impossible too. It didn’t help matters that some chick tried to get onto the plane sick and couldn’t manage to even make it to her seat. We had to wait for a customer service representative to “escort” her off the plane and then had to wait even longer for a clean up crew to clean up the throw up see left behind. It was like starting with a full tank of gas and then dropping to nearly empty before even leaving the runway. Oh yes, there ought to be an asterisk attached to my opening realization that traveling with a toddler is hard. The asterisk would read: And traveling with a toddler while seven months pregnant is harder. That little boy inside of me has quite the limited room as is and having an external little munchkin pushing further on the littler munchkin made this mama short of breath real fast. Bless the flight attendant who pointed out two open seats, allowing Hooper to have his own seat. This wonderful occurrence has happened a few times while traveling with Hooper and it makes such a big difference to my own comfort. It does not, however, change the fact that he nearly refused to sit in his seat. He pulled all the magazines out of the seat in front of him, he took the tray down and then pushed it back up (apologies were made to the people in front of us), played peek-a-boo with the people behind us (more apologies were made), ate the snacks that fell on the ground from the little girl next to him, walked up and down the aisles, you get the idea. He had gotten up so early in the morning for the flight that I was certain he would nap. He did nap, for about 20 minutes until my ass was fully numb, my left foot was tingling, my back was beyond aching, and I took the risk of lying him down on the open seat next to me. He woke almost immediately and never went back to sleep. So, it was a long flight there but he was happy and smiley regardless of appearing busier than a crackhead.
-Holding Hooper on that flight against my belly while the little one inside threw kicks and punches reminded me that soon my attention will be divided. I thought of this fact often throughout the trip. Every time I felt a kick I envisioned having to stop what I was doing and turn my attention away from Hooper. I feel some sadness regarding not being able to give Hooper my full attention in the near future. I worry less about how he’ll handle it and more about how I’ll handle it. Is that weird? I had a conversation with a friend who said she cried for three weeks after she gave birth to her second child. Even though her first child handled it well, she felt like she was cheating on him with the new baby. I’m trying to prepare myself to handle this transition in the most healthy of ways, but I’m sure what that means yet.
-Moments in motherhood, like life, are about perspective. For those 20 minutes Hooper was asleep on me on the plane, before the numb ass, tingling foot, and aching back, everything was perfect. I could stare at that boy sleep all day long. His weightless body and ability to give himself over to me fully is the most beautiful thing. He was perfectly peaceful. But, it’s momentary. Soon your ass is asleep, the fingers in the arm he’s resting on begin to tingle, it gets harder to feel your foot, your reluctant to uncross your legs for fear of waking your sleeping angel, and well, the moment of perfect peace passes. As I laid him on the empty seat, feeling incredibly grateful and indebted to all flight attendants from here and out, he instantly woke up. He never went back to sleep and for the remainder of the flight I was one of those hammers on the arcade game trying tirelessly to knock down the weasel every time he’d pop up. So you have a choice: call it a good flight and praise the lord for the moment he was asleep on your chest and the fact the flight was tantrum and tear free or call it horrible because you worked the whole time. It’s a matter of perspective and the choice is up to you.
-I noticed a woman at the beach watching Hooper as he mosied back and forth to the ocean with his bucket of water. She asked how old he was and mentioned she had a 19 month old at home. I studied her sitting in her lounge chair with her magazine, her husband next to her, and said “enjoy the freedom!”. She smiled in such a way that made me realize she was missing her son. I realized in this moment that being a mom is a double edge sword. It’s hard when you’re in full mom mode and it’s hard when you’re not. It’s a challenge, in my opinion, to enjoy the time alone with your husband when you’re both missing your little one at home. So as she watched Hooper and missed her son, I watched her and missed time alone with my husband. We both had something great in that moment, yet we both had to sacrifice something to be in that moment. The yin and yang, push and pull of life. Again, it’s a matter of perspective. 

18 Weeks

For a day my face was relatively clear. And by clear I mean all I had were some scars that were relatively easy to cover up. No new bumps begging to be popped. I thought this pimple stuff was nearing an end. I thought I could finally stop hanging out at pool joints or sneaking into movies I didn’t pay for or going to punk rock concerts. For that smidgen of time, I finally didn’t feel 17 again. For the past few months it seems like just as I get rid of one pimple another one sprouts. I mean really? Isn’t the weight gain enough for a woman to deal with? I won’t even mention the wonderful thickened hair that’s followed only by hair that’s as stringy and thin as an elderly woman. No offense to elderly woman. But now I know why many mom’s opt for the “bob” look postpartum. It’s just what works. Elderly woman have been doing it for years. Only they don’t have pimples all over their chins. Am I saying I’m jealous of the elderly now? What’s wrong with me? I also won’t mention the sensitivity, the resentment associated with watching as your husband enjoys the same body he had when you got married despite the fact that you can beat him in a push up contest (yes, this is true. Ask Willy. He won’t deny it.), and I certainly won’t mention the fact that yes, this growing thing inside you has to come out at some point and it exits through a small, very small hole. The same hole you were worried about inserting a tampon in. No, no, no, I won’t mention any of these things. What’s that you say? I just mentioned all those things? Well I can’t just go back on what I’ve already said…
But I can leave you with a positive thought for this wonderful week in pregnancy. There is nothing, seriously nothing, as sweet as being a mother. Love became better defined the day I birthed Hooper. People can bitch all they want about pregnancy and lack of free time and sleepless nights and how it sucks worse to be a woman and how your kids turn on you when their teenagers… and all of that can be true. But the sum of all the negative doesn’t even begin to compete with sum of the positive. It really doesn’t. My meaning, my purpose, my joy wakes me every morning with a little whine that reminds me I am the luckiest mom in the world. And there’s no feeling that good.
That little kick Willy got to feel with his hand cusped over my belly felt pretty good this week too.