Hi, I’m a Bad Mom…
What better way to get to know each other than to lay it all out on the table, right? Your freedom to pass judgement, scoff, or hate me starts now. As for the rest of you? Read on. You devilishly good looking, unapologetic, bad asses. You’re in good company.
So here’s the thing. I’m a dabbler. I am passionate about not one, but many things. But my most recent passion came to me in the form of my bouncing baby girl, Isla June. She is shamelessly adorable, looks nothing like me, and has sparked a fire in me that I know every Mama out there can relate to. With her came the unavoidable, “all things Mommy.” (Cue the Mom Blog). And herein my newest passion resides, with what some would call my “painfully” tongue-in-cheek perspective. Accompanied by a big fat helping of sarcasm… and a potty mouth. Hi, Mom!
My first lesson in motherhood? I’m a Bad Mom. Phew! Glad we got that out of the way. Here’s how I figured out that I am going to inevitably mess this all up:
Remember when you were 9 months pregnant, at your last pre-baby family gathering, and your Great Aunt Whoever slapped you with that age old warning? “Get ready! Babies don’t come with instruction manuals!” Thanks, Aunt B. As if condescending coffee breath wasn’t exactly what I needed to help remedy the 36 weeks of nausea and nervousness that has led up to this moment of… we’ll call it enlightenment.
But guess what? Aunt B can suck it, because babies do come with instruction manuals now! And if you don’t follow them to a tee, you’re a selfish, negligent, uninformed, wait for it… Bad mom! So I’m going to call it now, before anyone else can: I’m a bad mom. How do I know? Because as I write this I am vigilantly watching my daughter’s breaths while she sleeps peacefully -GASP- on her tummy. She also sleeps next to me… In. my. bed. And there are blankets. BLANKETS! And a dog. The humanity!
I could go on, but the reality is that the mom guilt struggle is real. Just because we make the choices we make doesn’t mean that we never second guess ourselves.. Again and again. That’s no secret at all, just ask one of those mom friends you introduced yourself to at the park. (Act like you didn’t curl your hair that day..) Their kid came with an instruction manual too. It told them that going back to work should leave them so grief-stricken that they can’t actually enjoy their job, let alone tell someone they do. And when they get home from work, they should want nothing more than to spend every solitary second they have entertaining their child, because #workingmomswag. No, no.. Because in the manual it specifically says “the luxury of a shower, a good book, or a quiet glass of wine alone means you’re a selfish asshole. And your husband? Forget it. Not allowed.” Put your big girl pants on and punch the clock here at home lady, your work is never done. And if you want it to be, don’t ask the rest of us how your child will turn out. (But actually do, because we’re all anxiously waiting here in your Facebook mom group to tell you how you’re screwing him up.)
You can ask your SAHM friends too. I’m sure they have all day to tell you how they’re doing it right. I mean what else do they have to do? They must know the secret. They got off the mom guilt struggle bus at the first stop and said, “NOPE. Not my circus, not my monkeys.” NOT. There’s a footnote in their manuals that says “Actually SAHMs don’t really work. Should they ever feel compelled to commiserate with a working mother because maybe they need a break? An intelligent conversation with a freshly bathed, undiapered adult? A trip to the bathroom, uninterrupted? NO. You may not. Not allowed.” You lazy piece of work. Go change into a different pair of Lululemons, adjust your mom bun and shut your mouth. (But actually, tell us how hard you work. We want to tell you that the rest of us work harder AND bring home the bacon. #workingmomswag)
So what have I learned so far in my brief time as a new Mom? We put too much pressure on ourselves to be perfect. To do the right thing. Don’t mess it up. Don’t mess her up. The abundance of information out there today feels like it exists to remind us that we’re doing it wrong. That someone else, some other more perfect Mommy, is doing it better. She has sacrificed her sleep and sanity to ensure she follows the rules and the guidelines. Because if she does, she can be there waiting when her baby pops out of this imaginary ‘Perfect Baby Machine’ ready for the real world; the meticulously molded, cookie cutter, well-adjusted person that the damn manual promised her. If the kid is missing an arm, or has a few screws loose? She has no one to blame but herself. Duh.
Well, good for her. Hope that works out. In the meantime, can someone pass the wine? I want to make sure I squeeze this next glass in before I have to nurse the baby again.
XO,
Gloria Barr
May 25, 2016Megan, I really enjoyed your obeservations of your first months of motherhood. I am your Dad’s cousin Gloria. When my husband and I got married he was in the Military stationed in Hawaii at Pearl Harbor. It was about 2 years later that our daughter was born at Tripler Army Hospital.. My husband was out at sea when my daughter Brenda started down the birth canal and I headed to the Tripler Army Hospital by myself being dropped off at the Hospital Entrance caring my small suitcase to the information desk. After learning Delivery Room was on the 3rd floor I entered the Elevator just me and my suit case on what seemed to be a long ride for just 3 floors. It had never occurred to me that I would have this baby without my husband at my side, or my mom, dad or sisters with me for support. When I arrived they told me it would be “sometime before I would deliver”. Well, that was vague and a little unsettling but that was the reality. So, I was checked in at 3:00 o’clock pm and I was put in a room where 3 other women were at various stages of delivery, all 3 of the women in the Labor Room had husbands, some had mother’s and other supportive family members at their bedside. One of the women was SCREAMING, SCREAMING, YELLING, ARGUING WITH THE DOCTOR. Hearing all this screaming was very unsettling to me scince I was told I was at a 4 when I entered and that I would need to reach a 10. In a very short time and really left by myself to listen to the screaming of that “cry baby a few beds away from me” I just said to myself women do this everyday and I feel really uncomfortable and it was feeling like I had to push but the fact that they told me I was at 4 and needed to wait until I was a 10 before they would take me to the Delivery Room I said to myself “Gloria, you can’t be a baby about this”. In about 10 minutes a male nurse (Military )came in to take info down for their records. As he asked me questions like “Is this your first baby? Hugh? Don’t you think I’m too young to have a baby? ( 24 years old). All those questions that you have to answer when it’s difficult answer a question and breathe at the same time. Finally, he said, “Gloria, are you feeling like you
want to push”. Me. “Oh, yes. I’d love to push”! Let’s take a look he says calmly……….then he says ‘OH MY GOD THERE’S THE HEAD”. PANT !PANT! He rolled the bed down the Hall saying “don’t push, don’t push”. Pant !Pant!
As they are pushing me out of the Labor Room the “crybaby pregnant woman” started screaming “where’s she going” like there was a line to go to delivery and I cut in front of her! They rush me down the Hall my doctor never made it in time he was down at the Mailbox mailing his tax return. My daughter Brenda was born 55 minutes after I arrived at the Hospital. 6.lb 7 1/2 oz and was 18″ long. My husband’s ship pulled into port the next day. They notified him the day before April l5th l970 but they never told me that they could get the message to him out at sea. We have the telegraph that let Roger know that I had gone into Labor and that I had the baby. Nobody told me so I was worried all night that when the ship pulled in he would be wondering where I was. So Megan, you don’t need a whole lot of information about how to bring up your daughter . Trust your judgement. You know what to do for her. Your parents did a wonderful job bringing you and Michelle up. They too dealt with an unusual situation where your Dad was always on the road. Cell phones were not available then and your parents especially your Mom struggled and probably second guessed herself daily. You and Dave know how you want Isla to be raised. Love her, Play with her, Sing to her, Hold her, read to her but above all make sure she is around people who are delighted to be with her and love her.