I Guess We Canâ€™t Be Friends, But Thatâ€™s Okay Because The Only Friend I Need Is Mrs. Meyer
I have mom friends that have playdates and book clubs and knitting circles and while I donâ€™t really do any of those things, Iâ€™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:Â I really donâ€™t care what your house looks like. Youâ€™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 donâ€™t clean to make you feel bad, or to eradicate wire hangers from my closets and terrify my kid. Similarly, Iâ€™m not doing it to â€œimpressâ€ you or to throw up a faÃ§ade 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. Donâ€™t take that away from me by making me feel like Real MomsÂ© donâ€™t do anything except for emotionally enrich their kids with developmentally appropriate preapproved curriculum in yesterdayâ€™s sweatshirt all day.
Can we just stop all of this– stop comparing ourselves to one another? I feel like thereâ€™s already enough crap to feel insecure about without throwing ridiculous skirmishes over baseboard cleanliness into the Mommy Wars.
(Image: getty images)