Sunday, March 11, 2012

2 - 13:40 - Becoming "That" Mom

I've done my best. I made it almost two years. I tried so hard to avoid it and I made it a really long time. But it finally happened. I uttered one of the dreaded phrases.
A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.
I've thought it so many times since becoming a parent but never actually said it out loud. I most recently thought it during the story I told in a recent post about using maxi-pads instead of diapers.
But there I was, telling a story to a friend about shoveling yogurt in L.E's mouth as fast as I could before she realized I was feeding her and clamped her mouth shut. And I said it. A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.
So many times I've seen this statement on mommy discussion boards and thought it was just an excuse for being lazy. Now I love a good laziness excuse just as much as the next person, but I feel like I'm a little better than the message board women. For one thing, my handle is not something cutesy like "<3<3<3L.E.'sMommy<3<3<3" it's my name, albeit my maiden name. I don't talk about how horrible my DH is because he won't change the baby's diaper. I don't want to discuss L.E.'s tantrums or how hard potty training is. I hate using the term DH and DD and DS. I had to Google SAHM because I had no idea it stood for Stay-At-Home-Mom.
(Side note: my dad would call all of our boyfriends DH when we started dating. It did not mean Dear Husband.)
Mostly, the message boards annoy me because I seem like I have nothing in common with the March 2010 Birth Club except for the fact that I had a baby in March of 2010.
I like to think of myself as a different kind of mom. One who's firm but still cool. Laid back, yet not letting her run into the street. Can laugh with her and kiss her boo-boos. I read to her but she still gets to watch T.V. I don't want to be a mom whose main identity has been completely obscured because she's somebody's mommy.  Yet the older L.E. gets, the closer I get to becoming "that" mom. I introduced myself to a fellow parent as "L.E.'s mom" the other day. I forgot to tell them my real adult name.
I watched an episode of Sesame Street even though L.E. had already gone to bed.
I posted a photo of L.E. on Facebook wearing a pair of underwear on her head. (Actually, it was two pairs of underwear but you can't tell in the pic.)
I try so hard to keep L.E. stories to myself, especially when talking to people who don't have kids. But when my life is so ingrained with hers–and she's a laugh-riot–it's really hard.
I show my single-guy-co-worker my new calendar photos of her every month.
I blog about her almost every day.
I sewed 20 little sock monkey bags to hold the favors for L.E.'s birthday party. (To counter that and not seem like over-achieving mom, I put trinkets from the Dollar Tree in them.)
We live in an age of over-sharing. Blogs like STFU, Parents wouldn't be popular otherwise. Every day, I tread the fine line between showing my social world how cute my kid is and sending photos of her little naked butt to my family.
I need to show some restraint. I need to not say things like A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.
I referred to Xanax as "mommy's little helper" the other night. Please kill me.

1 comment:

  1. Since mine were "Meggie's little helper" waaaaay before I was a mommy, I think of them as vitamins now.