How To Not Feel Bad About Shite As A Mom

After I had my son, I was waking up every 1 hour to feed him for a month straight. You hear people talking about sleep deprivation for new mothers, but WOWSERS, never sleeping long enough to achieve REM sleep definitely got my attention. As soon as I dip into dreamland, baby would wake up for breast milk. Like most moms, I’d steal longer naps when my partner— in my case, my boyfriend— would come home from work to relieve me. Thank the LORD ABOVE for that, otherwise, I’m sure I would’ve started burning down random buildings.

And nothing like a few delusions of arson to make you realize this:

I cannot show up for my son and be an effective mother if my proverbial cup is always empty.

I cannot “perform” (eeeh, hate how sexual that sounds) if I’m starving. Sore (hellooooo breastfeeding like a hunchback!). Or feeling and looking (and smelling) like a homeless person.

But these are obvious points…

What’s not so obvious to us new moms, as we fight to get our bodies back on the rails, is there’s a dungeon of goblins called:

Shoulds.

• I should work out more.

• I should be grateful even though I’m sooooo tired.

• I should become a Tik Tok star, making hilarious videos glorifying my effortless life as a mom.

• I should look more attractive.

• I should breastfeed for longer.

• I should make homemade scrapbooks (HAHAHAAH. Never.)

Know the feeling though??

I truly believe that women are still recovering from centuries of feeling shitty for just being…uh, women.

For having fancy things.

For not suffering.

For wanting to look like their prettiest self, just because.

I WANT [fill in the blank]... but… nah… I should just be happy with what I have. Sound familiar?

For me, this putting-down-of-my-desires is all too familiar…

Let me tell you a tale…

Recently, I decided that I want hair extensions. I live in a hot climate— STIFLING. Can you send me water please? And it doesn’t make sense for me currently to care for a 6-month old, nurture my new pregnancy, and wear makeup while wiping my underboob sweat on the regular. It’s just not happening, people.

I’m up and down, wiping drool from every limb, and just being a sweaty mother fucker, so I can’t bother with makeup that’ll smear off or just get rubbed off by my energetic infant son. Plus, my boyfriend has gorgeous dark brown skin, so my ivory makeup rubbing off on his face? Well, not his favorite exactly. So, makeup’s kinda of out of the picture until my children are older, and I’m not constantly rubbing their drooly faces all over mine day in and day out. Did I mention DROOL?!?! Shit, if cars only ran on drool, and I could sell it!!! THE BILLIONS I’D GET.

ANYWAY—

So I decided that I really want extensions. It’s something I can do that will make my hair feel fuller after the fUnNeSt bout of post-partum hair loss (weeeeee), and it’ll just make me feel a little bit more like a goddess and less like a sewer rat. And just…

I WANT THEM. Ok? I want them.

Which brings me to this fireball of a thought:

You can *just want shit* and not have to line up 94 reasons why it’s acceptable for you to want something.

You want botox? Go for it.

You want post-partum clothes even though in two months they may not longer fit because baby weight is making its way off your body? Buy that shit.

You want to get your nails done even though it’s a frivolous expense amidst diapers and endless baby wipes and other buying-of-stuff you didn’t even know you’d need? SWIPE THAT CARD.

Literally day 2 of being a new mom, it became immediately apparent that taking care of yourself IS the most important thing as a mother.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… taking care of your baby is priority blah blah blah I KNOW THIS. You know this. We’re not idiots, are we? I mean, I don’t think so anyway. I know how to use commas and apostrophes, and I can balance a spreadsheet, so my IQ is probably, er, kinda high. I’m smart, you’re smart. YES, let’s move on…

What needs to be pounded into our female stubborn skulls is how much we HAVE to take care of ourselves in order to show up for our kids.

The bare minimum isn’t enough, and that’s okay. Just taking a shower shouldn’t justify a round of applause… you need more than a clean vagina and fresh change of clothes and eyebrows that aren’t overgrown like your backyard right now. Where’s that gardener… I paid him!!!

Even as I write this, I find myself fighting my angel of a boyfriend who’s insisting we hire more childcare.

Boyfriend: “You need more help. You need more rest. You need more you time. You will burn out.”

Me: “NO, I can do this. Sure, I get interrupted sleep. And YES, I look like the grim reaper. BUT I GOT THIS. IT’S MY JOB to be suffer as a mother.”

Hmm… really? Is that what I said… or thought? That my role as a mother means that I should… suffer?

God, where does this come from?

How about here:

My single mother worked 2 jobs, went to night school, AND raised 3 kids solo! If she can do it, I should too!

My grandmother didn’t have Amazon. She barely had indoor plumbing, so STOP complaining you’re tired!

My mother made all her own baby food, and she breastfed for 1 year, and she sewed her children’s clothes. IF SHE CAN DO IT, WHY AREN’T YOUUUUU?

Look, this is 2022, people.

You’re not SUPPOSED to be doing the same shit your mom, grandma, great-great-whatever have done.

I’m sure my mom was like:

Holy FACK, I can buy DISPOSABLE DIAPERS and not waste precious daytime hours toiling away cleaning cloth rectangles caked with baby diarrhea??? WOW… life’s a dream!

The whole argument of “Well, my mother and grandmother didn’t do it, they didn’t have all these modern conveniences… so I shouldn’t either” is dumb and like… well, your ancestors didn’t have cars, so are you gonna walk everywhere? Do you want to WALK to Europe over the ocean, or are you going to board that plane? WELL?

You get my drift.

Every generation uses the technology the generation before it invented and set into place. I’m sure my grandmother was, like, really thrilled she wasn’t shitting in a hole in the ground behind her house. A toilet near the bedroom? THE DREAM. (And it is. Clean, indoor bathrooms? The shit.)

So I declare:

Let’s stop feeling bad for no ever-loving reason.

Enjoy the fact that you can order restaurant delivery into your mouth.

Relish in the online ordering of basically anything under the moon that you want.

Want a list of things to NOT feel bad about??

How about thiiiiis:

1. Feel bad about being tired even though you have online ordering (which is, let’s face it, a miracle)

2. You don’t have to breastfeed for 1, 2, 10 years (how DO women do it?? RESPECT)

3. You don’t have to feel bad about wanting a better nursing bra that doesn’t look like a repurposed grocery bag

4. You don’t have to feel bad about using formula for your baby.

5. Using medicine so you don’t have to feel pain and SUFFER through childbirth. Or a headache. Or post-partum panty pain.

6. You don’t need to feel bad about wanting YOU time. How else are you supposed to recharge so you don’t become a menical terrorist in your own house?

It is not your job to suffer. It isn’t, in this day and age, your job to even struggle like the women of yesteryear, girl. They didn’t rise and die so women of the future (aka, YOU) would feel needless guilt about having the chance to live stabler, stronger.

What IS your job though is fortifying yourself so you can do the job you set out to do as a mom. This earth-shakingly critical job requires mental stability, more energy than you can imagine, and that full-ass cup we’ve all heard about.

Investing in yourself is never wrong. It’s probably the rightest thing you can do, when it comes to showing up to life.