Stuff I feel Bad about... Sort of

These are things that I feel bad about, but do anyway because I don't feel bad enough to do something different:

Napping all morning with my baby instead of doing laundry and emptying the dishwasher.

Using the baby's afternoon nap to read and write blog posts instead of doing laundry and emptying the dishwasher.

Paying for 3 FULL days of childcare a week for my toddler even though I don't have one red cent of income (my husband does) and we're still renting. I'm pretty sure if I called in to ask, Suze would totally deny me. I do, however, have the approval of my psychiatrist.

Eating a bowl of ice cream pretty much every night before bed. While watching television.

Using my uncle's gift money for the baby to get my hair done.

Staying inside on a really gorgeous day because my back hurts too much for the sling and the steering on the stroller that fits the baby is all wonky and I keep forgetting to have it fixed.

Stuff I feel good about:

My children feel safe and loved.

My children feel safe and loved.

My children feel safe and loved.

I, Sanctimommy

I know I'm ages behind but I just read Mom101's piece on being a judgmental eyebrow raiser. And I have to confess: I am a recovering Sanctimommy.

With my first baby, I walked around fairly certain that I'd got parenting all figured out. If not in practice, certainly in theory. I chose my experts and my nutrition and my toxin free everything and for those who didn't follow my lead I felt scorn or, on a good day, pity. 'what you don't wear your baby every single second of the day? you buy sunblock at the drugstore? do you KNOW how much sugar is in that?'

I'm too passive to have been outright mean but I certainly know how to make people feel bad, even if they're not exactly sure why. It's in a tone, or a look or a seemingly innocent comment. One playdate with me and you'd leave convinced your child was going to grow into a neglected diabetic.

And then one day while I was counting the shush pats of my swaddled, breast fed 6 week old and breaking my brain trying to discern if it was exactly the right moment to transition to the basket portion of the sleep routine, I suddenly had a moment. It was my first real mommy moment. And it went like this "I think, I really think that I am developing a closer relationship with the sleep technique than I am with my actual baby."

And I took a breath. And I looked at her little infant face. And I put all the baby books away, trusted I'd absorbed enough to not wreck her completely, and started winging it.

Now, I still own a truckload of advice books and I reference them as needed. But in general I decided to give myself, and all the other moms and dads I came in contact with, a break from the Perfect Parent curse.

The reason that I needed all that stuff, all those ways to fortify my rightness, was to prove to myself - and everyone else - that I was indeed good enough to be a mother. Because deep down, I was pretty sure I wasn't. A little moral superiority goes a long way toward buttressing the old self-esteem.

It also goes a long way toward creating overwhelming feelings of guilt and isolation. And the self esteem boost? Temporary. So, I surrendered my Sanctimommy and joined the rest of you in the real world. It's nice here.

I am now secure in the knowledge that I am never going to be better than good enough. And thanks to you all 'bad' mommies out there, I feel safe knowing neither is anyone else.

A Better Mother through Blogging

The more I immerse myself in the blog world, the more I realize what a profound act mommy (parent) blogging can be. When we put ourselves out there we open the door for realization and growth, in ourselves, our readers and our challengers. And that makes us better parents.

Earlier this week HerBadMother wrote a bad mother manifesto. I loved it. It jolted me out of my self-centred stupour that left me believing that all the Good Mothers were doing it Right and I was, mostly, doing it Wrong. It reminded me that there is no Right Way and that my daily efforts, victories and screw ups are all part of It, no judgement required.

Then Seagull Fountain wrote a response piece. I loved it. It jolted me out of my self-centred stupour that left me believing that this was all supposed to be easy and fun and if it got hard that meant I wasn't doing Right. It reminded me that there is value and honour and work involved in trying to do better and that my daily efforts, victories and screw up are all part of It.

My Bad mommy self gives me the power to embrace where I am, to honestly be ok with me and my choices (even the ones that involve 6am Treehouse TV for my 3 year old so I can sleep, or in this case, write) and that gives me the freedom, and the power, to shake off the insecure and empty Pursuit of Perfection and just Do It Better.

I take classes. I read and listen to the Experts. I also listen to other moms, to my self and to my children (oh yeah, and my husband. Sure. Yes. I, um, listen to him too). I love learning how to be a better mom but that's only possible when I can love the mom I am right now.

You, my momosphere, and your honest sharing in your writing and your comments makes each one more possible. Thanks.

And

Mommyblogging through the fear

So I thought I'd start a blog. It seemed like a good idea. Felt like a good idea. Smelled like a good idea. And then I went to write my first post and my entire being started screaming 'NO this is NOT a good idea AT ALL. It's a very, very BAD idea. Very bad. Don't do it. No one wants this or needs this. STOP. NOW."

And the thing is, the world doesn't need another blog. It surely doesn't need another blog with the word ''mom" in the title. And it really doesn't need another photo of another kid, or another painting or another piece of pottery.

Really, if we never produced another one of these small shreds of creative output no one would ever notice.

Except, they would. Eventually. Because we'd all shrivel up and get empty eyes, with our half read copies of The Artist's Way gathering dust under the bed and our children shivering at the thought of becoming us.

So, the world may not need another blog - but I do. I need to dredge up the courage to devote time and energy and optimism to something that no one asked for and that no one needs. Something for me. Something honest and true and cliched and drippy and kind of defensive, maybe a little funny, and sometimes wise.

Something that likely few will read, but that anyone could read. Scary.

Something that's, above all, MINE.

God, I love the internet.