Meh

Today, at a one year old's birthday party, I got talking to a fellow mom. The subject began with Daisy's less-than-stellar weekend diets.


Although I try really hard to give her a balanced diet with all the food groups and as little pre-packaged crap as possible, the weekends are hard because we're so on the go and all schedules sort of go out of the window. For instance, we were on the road at her normal lunch time today and so we stuffed her in her car seat with a cup of Goldfish, which she demolished. Then, when she got to the party, she devoured probably a whole cup of blueberries (yay for black poop tomorrow!) while we waited for the entree-type food to be served. Of course, by the time that the chicken and salad was put out, Missy was full and having none of it.

So, we were talking about this, although I was really only half-heartedly beating myself up about it: a day or two a week where she doesn't eat fantastic isn't going to kill her, or me.  The other mom nodded emphatically and sympathetically, however, and launched into a list of things that she had to have "just perfect" in order for her to feel like she was a good mom - kids clean and well-fed, house clean, beds clean... the list went on - and I looked at her and all I could think was Meh! and then Poor you!

Honestly, the pressure some people put on themselves before they'll give themselves a pat on the back!

If Missy is loved and happy and smiling and developing and learning, I feel like I'm doing my job. Am I "the best mom in the world?" Who the heck knows and who the heck cares? What's the damn yardstick anyway?

As I write this, my living room floor is a mess, my bed needs making, my office is a disaster zone, my spare room a dumping ground, my kitchen needs tidying, my tile floors need vacuuming and mopping but Daisy is smiling. We had a good morning with Daddy at swimming, we enjoyed the birthday party and we've spent the afternoon as a family, relaxing away from the sweltering heat, in the living room.

Life is good.