Falling from Grace. Again.

I think every mother has an internal struggle rectifying their pre-child and post-child lives.

We are expected to seamlessly morph from Playboy Bunny to June Cleaver the second the head crowns. Exchanging selfish for selfless. Wine glasses for sippy cups. Girls nights for baby yoga.

And we do it. Because we’re supposed to. Our mothers say so. The parenting expert on The Today Show says so. And, as mothers, we just keep regurgitating the mantra. On the play ground. In the parking lot at our children’s school. On our blogs.

Because we are mothers. And we will judge the fuck out of you.

But, here’s the thing.

I already have plenty of other impossible standards that I don’t measure up to, God knows, I don’t need another one.

And, maybe it’s different for me, because I put myself out there publicly. Open to judgment. Open to criticism. Open to…hate mail (aww yeah, bring it, bitches).

Is my kid’s hair too long? Yes.

Do I swear too much? Sure.

Do I watch more porn than a grown woman should? Absolutely.

But, I own my shitiness.

It defines me.

There is a movement people, a movement. Of mothers who are women. Women who have had enough of this pedestal bullshit.

I drink too much. I eat too much. I laugh too hard at my own crappy jokes. I dress inappropriately, and I say the wrong thing 99.999% of the time. But, I don’t do it at the expense of anything, including being a fucking awesome mother. It’s just another extension of me.

In fact, I am pretty much my kids most favorite person ever, and we have the dirty feet, skinned knees and laugh lines to prove it.

I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. But, I’m mine, and I taste fucking brilliant.

Tagged as: judgement, motherhood, parenting