Critically Critical

It’s Friday night and my greatest accomplishment is that I’ve managed to mop my kitchen floor. It’s been 2 weeks……… ok it’s been like 3 ish weeks and it desperately needed it. My Friday nights rock!!

I’m in confession mode. Or maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Or maybe I’m really struggling with this particular issue. I pick D) all of the above.

I’m going to pour my heart out to all that will stumble across this long abandoned blog. I suffer from compareatinitis. This is my feeble attempt to be witty and make up a word. Which apparently I don’t rock at. I confess that I compare myself to other mothers!! GASP!! The horror!! I know, right? Who does that!?!?!? Me. Everyday. All day. It seems that way lately. In this social media world with Pinterest, Blogs, websites, and anything else I can manage to stumble upon. It shows a world in which Super moms exist not only to run a stellar house, but now they blog about it. They blog about how to clean, entertain, homeschool, be a fashionista, cook, be green,interior design, have a wonderful marriage, run a business from home, etc, etc, etc…………….

Then there’s Pinterest which connects me to all the blogs and shows me how I pale in comparison to all these super moms.

For example: I’m not the girliest girl out there. I haven’t always been the make-up/hair stylin kind of girl. I prided myself on going make-up free & not caring. All the while wishing I could be that girl that loved all that girly stuff. So lately in my attempt to be that girly girl & stay up-to-date on the cutest hair styles/make-up/fashion trends I decided that I would do something cute, quick, & easy to my hair for a night out with friends. Ummmm……..never happened!! That quick 5 minute chic hair do that I was doing badly was making me cry. I spent so much time on that 5 minute quick hair-do that I began to lose feeling in my arms. I started tearing up. Said screw it. Slapped on my daring on trend red lipstick I just bought and prayed that it didn’t look like I was America’s Next Top Street Walker.

I wake up everyday with a laundry list of things to do and I never seem to accomplish them. Maybe I’m still adjusting to having 2 kids. A 4 month old and a 3 year old. I’m exhausted! I’m lucky enough to get a shower every 3 – 4 days. No joke. There are days where I think I’ve got this 2 kid thing down & then my little goose throws a tantrum because I took the lid of his yogurt and he wanted to do it or he couldn’t watch a show. Or one of those days where I’m looking forward to nap time & neither one of them nap or they sleep at opposite times so I have zero time to recharge my batteries or pee. Or I lose my cool and yell at my son when it wasn’t even worth getting upset about or how I would love to have at least 5 consecutive hours of sleep. Or my To Do list never seems to end & then I try to remind myself that babies grow up too fast & to enjoy my time with them. However, my self diagnosed OCD kicks in & I have to get everything done NOW. It’s this horrible cycle that I get into and I beat myself up because so & so does this, that, & the other and doesn’t even seem phased by it all. I am forever hard on myself and forever telling myself to CTFD.

I know that comparing myself to other “super” moms is ridiculous but it seems impossible to use logic when sleep deprivation makes it all so much BIGGER than it really is.

Then I stumble across this and read through tear-filled eyes knowing that this is what I do and knowing that it’s not helping me at all. This truth about what comparison does to your soul. How can I be present for my babies when I’m always comparing myself to others. When I’m down on myself because she has it all together. Or look this pinterest mom says you should never say this to your son, but only this because if you don’t then he’ll grow up to hate woman. I feel like I’m forever screwing up, not measuring up to that woman over there, and all the while robbing myself and my kids of a mom they love no matter what. They love me just the way I am with my typical hair in a pony look, wearing the clothes I wore to bed the night before, and long since abandoning all modesty and peeing with the door open. They don’t care and maybe I shouldn’t either.

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