There is this thing I love about motherhood. Aside from the actual children who make me a mother, the husband who is their father and the secured spot in Heaven, my very favorite thing about motherhood, about being a mom, is other moms. Whether it’s my mom, my mother-in-law, sisters, forever friends or “mom” friends, I love other moms. Moms who have teenagers. Moms who just had their first or moms who have empty nests. It matters not what stage of mom.
I’ve written my fair share about mama drama…and I have a blog on deck that covers one of those topics that causes moms to trade tit for tat. But outside of the battles of the broads, there is much goodness, in terms of relationships, in becoming a momma. There is a certain kinship, a bond, that connects us to every other woman who’s been here, doing this.
Recently, I had the pleasure of reconnecting with a friend I’d not talked with in years. A friend who I don’t really even know anymore. Of course we still keep up with one another on Facebook {I mean, who doesn’t?}. And we’ve known one another since we were 5. But I don’t truly know the ins and outs of her life. I don’t truly know her anymore. But in that discussion, we talked about things… about mom things. About boobs. And nipples. And raging hormones. And sleep. And I told her it’s the hardest best thing she’ll ever do, being a mom. And I could tell that in the few short (er, probably long to her) days since she’d given birth, she already knew that to be fact.
Because there are so many choices in parenting, you can constantly feel, in only being an onlooker to another mom, that you are making the wrong ones. But in talking with other moms, in finding friendships and being real, you finally see the truth…that there is no perfect mother. I use disposable diapers. You use cloth. We’re both good moms. I breastfed. You formula fed. We’re both good moms. You never used a pacifier. Her four year old has one. You’re both good moms. You buy all organic foods. My kids’ favorite thing is a McDonalds yogurt parfait. Even still, we’re both good moms. You send your kids to an in-home daycare. I send my kids to pre-school. She homeschools. That woman over there…she has an in-home daycare so she can be with her kids and make money. We’re all good moms. Your kid wouldn’t know the Mickey Mouse Theme song from Doc McStuffins. One of the only phrases my kid will mimic is, “Oh Toodles!”. I’d still gander to say it…we’re both good moms. Your kid is a National Merit Scholar. Her kid is choosing not to go to college. Again, still good moms. The family across the street has kids in sports. The one next door has kids in music. Well…I think you get the point… Both. Good. Moms. In fact, great moms. Because the common thread is that we all love our children. Immensely. Without fail. To the moon and back.
Because the minute you become a mom, after the second sleepless night. Or the first feeding frenzy. After your hair smells of breastmilk or your shirt of spit-up or your hands like formula or your nose of poop. After the first time your kiddo tries to walk or talk or do that really amazing thing that you swear yours is the only human to have ever done that. After the first time you hold a timeout. Or you yell {like really yell}. Or you feel guilty for yelling. Or lay in bed giggling with a giddy toddler. After the first time you cry because you care more about their entire existence than you ever have about yours. After each. little. or big. thing. You are a mom. And forever stay that way. And you know that you need other moms.
This connection that you share with other women who have been in the trenches exists partially because of the joy that is derived from raising humans and partially because of the sheer insanity that exists in your world because of these little people you are shaping. It is seriously lovely to have a whole legion of people who get it. Because some days, you just don’t. And for the days you do, it’s a blessing to have others who actually feel the joy you have in your baby sitting up, or your toddler ditching diapers, or your 10 year old winning the spelling contest, or your 18 year old getting a college acceptance letter. Because it is not the type of joy but the existence of it at all that connects you to other moms. It is a great thing to know that you can share your joy or your stress with other moms because they truly get the joy and the stress.
After I had Barrett, I found friendship in not unlikely, but rather otherwise untapped places. My existing close friends and family {moms and not moms, male and female} were the epitome of supportive and this was essential. But I felt almost, humbled, by the support offered from women who although they weren’t close friends, became closer friends or mentors of sort in my quest to be the end-all-be-all mother. They gave me advice, cocktails, dessert, and venting time when I needed it. And I don’t even know that these moms knew they were even being helpful because moms inherently help other moms by being real. And through sharing. I’ll never, ever forget feeling exceedingly guilty leaving Barrett or asking Adam if I could do a girls night because I was supposed to be the mom and a friend said, “Oh. I remember feeling that. You get over it.”. And she was right. I did. And as she said, I am a better mom for it. And that was just one piece of advice in one conversation.
It’s advice like that. And quick but meaningful conversations with old friends. Or long, drawn out philosophizing over wine. Or that look, in Target, that you exchange when their child is having a meltdown of monumental proportions. And getting my friends’ texts with pics or videos of their babes. It’s those things that make the “club” of motherhood even more, dare I say it, rewarding.
So I will continue to be real. To talk about nipples. And leaking. And hemorrhoids. And hormones. And toddler tantrums. And four year old attitudes. And miscarriage. And all of it. Because the moms who have made the biggest impact on my mothering have been real, honest and open. And they have been difference makers to me. And I am thankful, daily, to know inspiring, beautiful mothers raising brilliant beautiful children. Because it makes me a better mom.
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