Supermommies
A few weeks ago, my Patterfamily and I attended a diapering class at Cotton Babies. www.cottonbabies.com It was an introduction to cloth diapers and the variety of choices now available to those interested in an alternative to disposables. Two moms in attendance caught my attention, as they were just too perfect to be pregnant. I try not to judge others, but that night I don't think I tried hard enough. Where are their swollen feet? Their tired, puffy faces? Surely they put pillows under their shirts and came here for a laugh. I was near growling when one of them took out a notebook and began writing, in detail, the ins and outs of dealing with infant excrement.
These creatures are the unfortunate product of parenting magazines, I thought. Newbie moms attempting to be Supermommies. They will make sure their offspring have everything their little hearts' desire, all the while scheduling playdates with neighborhood children, ensuring that said offspring remain in acceptable social circles. I tried to focus on poop disposal rather than their perfect pedicures framed with designer flip flops. (I mean, really, who pays more than 6 bucks for flip flops? Not I. Now Birkenstocks...that's different. I have forked over $140 for a pair of those.)
I began to stress. I am overcome with "what ifs" as I type this post. What if I can't keep up with cloth diapers? What if it stinks too much? What if I get pink covers and it's a boy? What if it's just a road paved with good intentions? What if my baby cries all the time? What if I cry all the time? What if I can't do this? And worse whatifs follow...I can't even type them.
All of this stems from someone else being better than me. Where THAT comes from, I don't know. What the hell do I care about Supermommy's Perfectly Pregnant self? Someone will always be thinner, richer, more polished, better dressed, better organized, cleaner, etc. etc. etc. In short, someone will always be more.
I remember how happy Aidan's giggle made me when I first heard it, and I am happy all over again when he enters the room with his loooonng legs and gap-toothed grin. He doesn't mind my support hose and shorts outfit, nor does he care whether or not I wear makeup. This baby won't care, either. And neither does Tim. Those who matter to me don't really care about the imperfect shell that houses me...
....so why do I care so much?
These creatures are the unfortunate product of parenting magazines, I thought. Newbie moms attempting to be Supermommies. They will make sure their offspring have everything their little hearts' desire, all the while scheduling playdates with neighborhood children, ensuring that said offspring remain in acceptable social circles. I tried to focus on poop disposal rather than their perfect pedicures framed with designer flip flops. (I mean, really, who pays more than 6 bucks for flip flops? Not I. Now Birkenstocks...that's different. I have forked over $140 for a pair of those.)
I began to stress. I am overcome with "what ifs" as I type this post. What if I can't keep up with cloth diapers? What if it stinks too much? What if I get pink covers and it's a boy? What if it's just a road paved with good intentions? What if my baby cries all the time? What if I cry all the time? What if I can't do this? And worse whatifs follow...I can't even type them.
All of this stems from someone else being better than me. Where THAT comes from, I don't know. What the hell do I care about Supermommy's Perfectly Pregnant self? Someone will always be thinner, richer, more polished, better dressed, better organized, cleaner, etc. etc. etc. In short, someone will always be more.
I remember how happy Aidan's giggle made me when I first heard it, and I am happy all over again when he enters the room with his loooonng legs and gap-toothed grin. He doesn't mind my support hose and shorts outfit, nor does he care whether or not I wear makeup. This baby won't care, either. And neither does Tim. Those who matter to me don't really care about the imperfect shell that houses me...
....so why do I care so much?
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