In an obvious moment of weakness last night, my husband jokingly made a comment asking why "supermom" couldn't get something done tomorrow. He could have called me super-mom, super-woman, super-bitch, super-special or super-crazy and it would have all been interpreted the same. For my response, refer back later to a future post aptly titled:
"ATTN: My husband's day starts at 4:45 AM"
Anyhow, I digress...
I like to think I spend most nights contemplating what worldly matters I will accomplish the following day. "I will write the president a letter sharing ideas on how to balance the national deficit and bring congress together as one." Oh, and "I will also sort through all of my belongings and appropriately categorize them before taking them downtown to donate and volunteer my time to greater good."
Now let's be real... by the time my head hits the pillow at 9:30-9:45 pm like a lead bullet every night -- I'm praying that I was lucky enough to have remembered to brush my teeth so I don't have to roll out of bed again to do so. It would be fabulous to be able to have the time to ponder those thoughts listed above, but it's just not realistic. Last night specifically, I found myself obsessing about the supermom comment aforementioned.
In society now-a-days, we hear a lot about "SUPERMOM". What she looks like, how her day is structured, how she holds her family together, saves money and all around does it ALL! In my experience, and in my opinion, there are only two types of mothers.
1) Those like me.
2) Those desperately trying not to be like me.
Those like me are those that find themselves at the mall at 10:01 immediately when it opens to let the rug-rat burn some energy hoping it will entice an earlier nap. I am make-up free, not by choice, wearing an old ratted pair of tennis-shoes. Side bar... Even if I did own a pair of red-bottom Louboutins, not only would my body not allow me to wear them post-birth, but my daughter would find a way to make them her new drawing palette and they'd quickly become a pair of black, green and yellow bottom $1,000 shoes. Anyhow, the point is I'm a hot mess. I wouldn't say that I've given up on myself, because I do make rather decent, yet irregular, attempts to put myself together. I need to make more of an effort, yet again, when time allows.
Anyhow, while rug-rat is playing at the mall and I'm visiting with my Hot Mess Mommy Group -- up walks her -- category two.
Those desperately trying not to be like me are the just finished working out, yoga pant wearing (yeah right, we know your tricks), Starbucks sipping, Louis Vuitton bag carrying, fully made-up woman with a Baby-Gap wearing child that looks ready to enter their 18th beauty pageant of the season walking calmly beside her.
Ugh, crushed. In a wave of sheer jealousy and a moment of pure weakness, I run to Cinnabon to gobble up a few thousand calories filled with complete regret of what will ultimately keep perpetuating this cycle.
"ATTN: My husband's day starts at 4:45 AM"
Anyhow, I digress...
I like to think I spend most nights contemplating what worldly matters I will accomplish the following day. "I will write the president a letter sharing ideas on how to balance the national deficit and bring congress together as one." Oh, and "I will also sort through all of my belongings and appropriately categorize them before taking them downtown to donate and volunteer my time to greater good."
Now let's be real... by the time my head hits the pillow at 9:30-9:45 pm like a lead bullet every night -- I'm praying that I was lucky enough to have remembered to brush my teeth so I don't have to roll out of bed again to do so. It would be fabulous to be able to have the time to ponder those thoughts listed above, but it's just not realistic. Last night specifically, I found myself obsessing about the supermom comment aforementioned.
In society now-a-days, we hear a lot about "SUPERMOM". What she looks like, how her day is structured, how she holds her family together, saves money and all around does it ALL! In my experience, and in my opinion, there are only two types of mothers.
1) Those like me.
2) Those desperately trying not to be like me.
Those like me are those that find themselves at the mall at 10:01 immediately when it opens to let the rug-rat burn some energy hoping it will entice an earlier nap. I am make-up free, not by choice, wearing an old ratted pair of tennis-shoes. Side bar... Even if I did own a pair of red-bottom Louboutins, not only would my body not allow me to wear them post-birth, but my daughter would find a way to make them her new drawing palette and they'd quickly become a pair of black, green and yellow bottom $1,000 shoes. Anyhow, the point is I'm a hot mess. I wouldn't say that I've given up on myself, because I do make rather decent, yet irregular, attempts to put myself together. I need to make more of an effort, yet again, when time allows.
Anyhow, while rug-rat is playing at the mall and I'm visiting with my Hot Mess Mommy Group -- up walks her -- category two.
Those desperately trying not to be like me are the just finished working out, yoga pant wearing (yeah right, we know your tricks), Starbucks sipping, Louis Vuitton bag carrying, fully made-up woman with a Baby-Gap wearing child that looks ready to enter their 18th beauty pageant of the season walking calmly beside her.
Ugh, crushed. In a wave of sheer jealousy and a moment of pure weakness, I run to Cinnabon to gobble up a few thousand calories filled with complete regret of what will ultimately keep perpetuating this cycle.
Now who is supermom? Although that may be up for debate by some, I will tell you that in my opinion -- we all are.
One thing I've learned in my moments of discussion with category two is a lesson we have all been taught at an early age. Appearances aren't always what they seem. I think that aptly applies for both categories. What we ALL do is not easy and most of the time it's under-valued and under-appreciated. We all make sacrifices every day for the greater good of ourselves, our families and for society, regardless of how well our hair falls into place on one given day.
I guess we may never get passed some of the insecure feelings that seem to emerge early in life. As an adult, I don't want to constantly compare myself to the "cool" mom like I did with the "popular" bitc -- ummm girls -- in high school. Besides, the only difference between me and her is that she has a child a tad less demanding and rambunctious than mine that allows for a few extra minutes a day. I'm smart enough to know that is pretty much the ONLY difference -- well --- and a nanny of course.
Oh, and although my yoga pants have never been to yoga (okay once but that story will never be shared), I do know that they've traveled many places and can tell lots of stories as I've rode the roller-coaster of early motherhood...in fact, I think my last Starbucks ended up ON those yoga pants.
One thing I've learned in my moments of discussion with category two is a lesson we have all been taught at an early age. Appearances aren't always what they seem. I think that aptly applies for both categories. What we ALL do is not easy and most of the time it's under-valued and under-appreciated. We all make sacrifices every day for the greater good of ourselves, our families and for society, regardless of how well our hair falls into place on one given day.
I guess we may never get passed some of the insecure feelings that seem to emerge early in life. As an adult, I don't want to constantly compare myself to the "cool" mom like I did with the "popular" bitc -- ummm girls -- in high school. Besides, the only difference between me and her is that she has a child a tad less demanding and rambunctious than mine that allows for a few extra minutes a day. I'm smart enough to know that is pretty much the ONLY difference -- well --- and a nanny of course.
Oh, and although my yoga pants have never been to yoga (okay once but that story will never be shared), I do know that they've traveled many places and can tell lots of stories as I've rode the roller-coaster of early motherhood...in fact, I think my last Starbucks ended up ON those yoga pants.
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