"Just" Mom

As I lay here writing this, a baby (more specifically MY baby) is resting one of her feet on my chin. And one on my temple. My husband is snoring. It's our seven year anniversary tonight. We celebrated it with cards and quesadillas and our kiddos. And an early bedtime. OH, THE ROMANCE!

I'm writing this for any Moms - or maybe all Moms - out in the world who are living the Mom life.

I became a Mom 9 years ago. But I was working. And I was young. And navigating through a divorce. So, in all honesty, I was a little - distracted, or overwhelmed or preoccupied. As much as I adored my little guy, and was 100000% his Mommy, I don't feel I was actually saturated in the Mom life. I had a lot of other life happening around me.

I can say now, with confidence, I am LIVING the Mom life.

Everything I am, is a Mom. Part of me is ashamed that I've "let myself go", and another part of me embraces the changes. I drive a minivan. I homeschool. Today, I wore Uggs - FAKE Uggs - in public! The social extravaganza of my weeks consists of trips to Target or the grocery store, and the occasional phone call with my own Mom or a friend. I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches everyday. I usually eat Jet's crumbs. I plan my day around when the neighborhood kids will be outside. Leggings ARE pants. I chase a toddler 23 hours a day and yet I'm softer around the middle than ever before. I read articles about parenting, and constantly gauge what I am doing right and what I need to be better at. (The latter's list is always the longer of the two.) I have seen "Inside Out" 63728292582 times. That's not a joke. I am STILL breastfeeding. 

 And that's me. I'm "just" a Mom. I try to be cool, but it's wasted effort because Jet constantly reminds me that I am in fact, NOT cool. Not to say he doesn't worship me, but when I think I'm being cool - he puts me in my place. (The "NOT COOL, MOM!" corner.) I'm pretty sure Navy thinks I'm cool, but she also thinks toes are cool, so I don't know that I can trust her judgement yet. 

I don't have help. (No daycare, or Mother's Day Out for me.) The most time I have spent away from Navy was for the 8 hour day trip that Jet and I spent at a Boy Scout campground. I am fiercely critical of myself for this, and simultaneously - proud? I know I need to have some "me" time, but I also pat myself on the back for managing to keep my house {mostly} clean, my children fed, and everybody alive each day. I get all the credit for that. That's how I measure my worth. Clean floors? Check. Heartbeats in everybody's chest? Check. Daily goals, COMPLETED!

I recently cut myself off from Facebook. I might soon need to do the same for Instagram. The photos tell a story, but they certainly don't tell the real story. The real story for me is that I spend all day alone with my kids. They are fun, and exhausting. They are, as previously mentioned ... kids. I wait for my husband to get home, and often he is so tired that he needs to just zone out and relax. (Fair! This is not me being critical of him, at all!) Our timing clashes at this point because I'm usually like, "ADULT CONVERSATION!" at this same part of the day. (Bless our hearts!) I am lonely. My house is clean, but never enough. I do the same things over and over (sweep, mop, vacuum, dust, dishes, wipe everything down, and allllllll of that laundry!) ... But nothing is ever done. Navy does not live on a schedule. She does not play by the rules. She climbs. She cries. She naps at any time of the day that she sees fit. But never at the same time. She's so dang cute. Jet is so smart, but he won't pay attention. He refuses to memorize math facts. I worry that he's too smart, and that I'm not smart enough to teach him. I usually get flustered. I am so proud of him, and his big beautiful mind. My life is a combo of cleanliness and chaos and of children and their needs and it's ... a mixture of pure bliss and extreme sadness. And sprinkle in anxiety and stress. And that's the real life story behind my Instagram feed - in case I've ever fooled you!

 And yet ... I still allow other people's pretty pictures deceive me. I see the fancy trips people take, their getaway weekends ... Their pretty outfits and the date nights or the cocktails and swanky dinners and, I feel like I'm doing life wrong. I don't have any of that. I have bangs that I cut in my bathroom on a whim. I have rice made 700 ways. I have a legitimate pair of Crocs that I wear everyday. (And judge away, those mofos are so comfy!!!) I have no trips that aren't for visiting family. 

I do have happiness. And laughter. And a super cute chalkboard wall. (Because that seems to make people think I am cool, for some reason.) But the Mom life is all encompassing, and truthfully - so wicked hard. I have a lot, but I don't have perfect or glamorous and airbrushed. 

So here is what's up: I am not cool, you guys. I am a Mom. And it's grueling. And it's beautiful. And it's isolating. And rewarding. And obviously ... very complicated, from an emotional standpoint. I'm working hard to be okay with the struggle. But it's real. Being a Mom is the greatest and, sometimes, the worst.

This is the REAL me. Unedited. Foot in face, on my anniversary, blog writing at midnight, photo.