Let's keep it real

I've had it with the mommy bloggers. (Also: the term "mommy bloggers," but I digress. Already.) But you know what I mean: the ones with blogs organized into categories like "Fashion," "Organic Baking," "Breastfeeding while Jogging," and "Economics Dissertation"? I mean, come on. Just because someone can pretend she has her crap together in a daily blog post does NOT mean she isn't really just like the rest of us: accidentally brushing her teeth with diaper rash cream, creating a borderline Hoarders situation in the guest room, and having buckwild crying jags over things like not being able to open a jar of fancy olives.

Because these things are just part of being a new mother.

It's not easy, but we all feel like it should be easy or else we are bad, bad, bad people. The hormones just totally take over.

I mean, seriously: the crying. I've gone full-on John Boehner over topics ranging from debilitating baby farts and malfunctioning wireless routers to particularly sympathetic Cupcake Wars contestants. Clearly I have trouble discerning what's worth waterworks these days. And when I start to think about what a bad wife, mother, friend, employee, exerciser, or homemaker I perceive myself to be it gets, um, really not good.

So yes, I'll admit it: I am a bit of an emotional mess. A high functioning emotional mess, I'd say -- but an emotional mess nonetheless. And based on some things I've slowly learned from talking to others, I think I can expect to be for the rest of the first year of motherhood. I am annoyed that the books, doctors, and other expert types seem to like asserting that your emotions will normalize in eight weeks. Because guess what? When I didn't stop being an emotional trainwreck after eight weeks, I got a whole lot more emotional trainwrecky.

Not that I'd ever do it, but staying off the innernets would help us all. A person could spend hours online in those perfect little mommy universes and see all the wonderful displays of domestic goddess-ness. But don't go there. It's just an illusion. Enjoy the Instagram photos of homemade peach cobbler and try not to make comparisons. Deep down, we are all nervous wrecks with disorganized piles of baby gear in the basement and toilet paper stuck to our shoes.

Over the last few months I have learned from reading online that, no matter what may be frustrating or concerning you about parenting, you apparently have absolutely no right whatsoever to complain about it. Now, let me be clear: I am not pro-complaining. It's annoying and no one wants to hear it. But just the other day, I saw an editorial piece asserting that parents specifically had no right to complain about any of the challenges of parenting because, well, they chose to be parents.

But aren't most things people complain about things they chose to bring upon themselves? "My boss is a d-bag." (Stop complaining! You CHOSE to work there.) "My legs are sore from this workout." (Shut up and don't complain! You CHOSE to order P90X from that infomercial!) I mean, I suppose these are valid responses to these types of complaints...but I think most people would consider you an a-hole if you actually said them.

So that's something else to feel guilty about. Have I lost perspective? Am I just as whiny and out of touch as the awful subjects on STFU, Parents? Oh, god: I forgot to work in worrying about that when I was busy feeling guilty about not spending enough time with my husband, not baking a birthday cake from scratch, and not blogging my baby's developmental milestones.

But that's the thing, isn't it? Apparently the first year of motherhood is pretty much all about feeling like an inadequate person with a virtually limitless list of things to feel guilty about. It's an adjustment of your time, your resources, and your hormones for which you will never actually be prepared. So give up, give in, and give me some chocolate cake and a box of wine.

And try to cut yourself some slack. Have a good cry if you want to. But you know what will always cheer you up at the end of a long day of neglecting your child while doing your job poorly?

WIS WITTO FACE.



Or insert your own favorite face here. Because, seriously: So cute and so worth it!