mom fun

I Guess We Can’t Be Friends, But That’s Okay Because The Only Friend I Need Is Mrs. Meyer

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I have mom friends that have playdates and book clubs and knitting circles and while I don’t really do any of those things, I’ve never hopped on an ecard maker to draw up a quick guilt-inducing shareable about how the children of selfish scarf-knitting neglectors are missing out on being loved. Above all, and I really feel like I should emphasize this:  I really don’t care what your house looks like. You’re not me. If you promise not to judge me for not knitting an adorable beanie for my kid, I promise not to judge you for not being anal retentive about the relative dustiness of your mini-blinds. Pinkie swear.

I don’t clean to make you feel bad, or to eradicate wire hangers from my closets and terrify my kid. Similarly, I’m not doing it to “impress” you or to throw up a façade of having it all together. I do it for me, because it makes me feel like a grown up while the smell of smiley fries wafts through the house. Don’t take that away from me by making me feel like Real Moms© don’t do anything except for emotionally enrich their kids with developmentally appropriate preapproved curriculum in yesterday’s sweatshirt all day.

Can we just stop all of this– stop comparing ourselves to one another? I feel like there’s already enough crap to feel insecure about without throwing ridiculous skirmishes over baseboard cleanliness into the Mommy Wars.

(Image: getty images)

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