Bad Moms

Truth Hurts

I finally hopped on the mama bandwagon and made it to the theater to see Bad Moms. It was hysterical. I laughed so hard. It was so very right on . . . but sometimes truth hurts. There were so many parts of that movie that I thought to myself, yep that happened to me. As a divorced, single mom, I felt a sense of sadness watching my life play out on screen. And not the drinking, partying scenes, but the rushing and sadness. The sadness was so very real. 

My son has yelled things at me that have broken my heart in two.

The birth that almost took my life and his, to meet the tiny baby I brought into this world 10 weeks early at 2 pounds and 13 oz. The one I fought for. That I did 12-16 hour days of skin-to-skin care for. That I breastfed for 20 months. That I hugged and kissed and played with. The boy that my mind is always thinking about . . . he has said things to me that have made me cry, and he’s only four years old.

Things like: 
“You’re ruining my life.”
“I hate you.”
“You can’t be my mom any more.” 

And they have been for really silly things. Like it was bed time. Or we happened to be out of his favorite cereal. Trivial things that don’t matter . . . but matter a lot to him. So I try to look past the words he said, to find what he truly means. That is one of the hardest part of being a mom. Rising above the pain. 

There are moments in the movie where the main character is divorcing and separating . . . I know that pain too. I have felt it so very real in my life. And all the pains in the movie, if they weren’t mine personally I knew someone I could assign them too. I thought of my friends . . . of myself.  It was a gloriously funny movie that was just the right amount of over the top, and yet it was honest. But that’s the point. We all have to be a little more honest with ourselves and each other.

We are now held to an unobtainable standard. We are supposed to be men, and hold full time jobs, and women as full time moms. We are supposed to throw the best birthday parties and make organic home cooked meals. We are supposed to dress perfectly, wear nice makeup and stand still and look pretty. Be cheerleaders and rulers and job holders. It is hard. But you know what, we do it. Because we are strong enough and our babies need us. 

They show the deep, disparaging difference between being a dad and being a mom. As a dad you get a good star and are doted on for watching your child once a month. You are rewarded for going to one doctor appointment. 

As a mom, we are never good enough. We are at every doctor appointment, every dentist appointment, every game, every activity, every playdate . . . we keep them clean and fed and happy. We teach them and play with them. I have even slept sitting up holding my son, so that his nose wouldn’t be so plugged so he could sleep . . . and then I got up the next morning with little-t0-no sleep and went to work. I have been rushing to be perfect for 4.5 years, and I will be the first to admit . . . I am not a perfect mom. 

I’m a weird mom. 

And that’s how I like it. We make messes. We stand on tables. We climb trees. We experience and adventure and snuggle. We run barefoot in mud puddles. It is the best I can be and all I know. My son is kind and sweet and a good listener . . . most of the time. And my baby loves me. So I know I’m doing it just right. 

So remember ladies, no matter what your personal struggle is, you are not alone. You can do this. You are the strongest woman in the world, that’s how they see you. So, Tits Up!