I can preach all day about how being insecure and comparing yourself to other moms is a waste of time. I could tell you that each mom is different and that one parenting style is not necessarily better than another. I could also tell you that no matter what, there is always a “better”, “smarter”, “funnier” mom, so there’s absolutely no point in stressing about being the “-est”anything. Sure, I could tell you those things, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t roll my eyes and shake my head if someone tried to get me on their ridiculous “girl power-we’re all equal-stop comparing-we all have our own commendable strengths” bandwagon (what is that old saying about practice what you preach?). I mean, come on, be realistic, is there a woman out there who doesn’t compare themselves to other women? I know I do! I am 100%, totally, absolutely, completely, undeniably guilty of being a “Chronic Comparer” (I don’t know/care if comparer is a real word). I don’t know why I do it…I know better, but I can’t stop. I guess that fat 10 year old girl with glasses and a huge space between her front teeth is still living inside of me, forcing me to compare myself other women.
I wish I could say that when I became a mother I gained some divine wisdom that left me completely content with who I am and how I do things. I wish I looked into the eyes of my daughter and had a brilliant epiphany about how “we are all one”. Well, I don’t have a damn genie, so my wishes are useless. Motherhood has definitely exacerbated my “chronic comparer syndrome”. It’s a serious problem. Every time I walk into a playgroup with Ella, I feel like a teenager who smoked a joint before class and is afraid that everyone knows she is high. My eyes dart around the room wondering if the other moms know that my daughter is wearing the same outfit she slept in. Afraid that somehow they can tell that there is a layer of diaper rash cream all over the bottom of the diaper bag because I lost the cap a month ago and have been too lazy to clean the bag out. I stand there, biting my nails like a madwoman wondering if the perky brunette with a perfectly polished nails knows that I had baby poop on my hand that morning for a full 45 min before I noticed and washed my hands.
It is exhausting!! What’s the point?! Just because other moms seem to have it all together doesn’t mean they actually do. Who knows what goes on when they are at home alone with their kid? Who cares? I’ve wasted so much time feeling insecure and thinking that I’m not as “good” as other mothers. I’M OVER IT!! I will never be the type of mom who spends hours pureeing organic carrots for a weeks worth of baby food. I am the type of mom who runs into the grocery store and buy organic prepackaged food. I will never be the type of mom who always has the diaper bag packed perfectly. I will always be the type of mom who forgets the wipes and runs to the public restroom to get wet paper towels. That’s just the way it is. I am who I am and as long as my daughter is safe, healthy and happy then nothing else matters.