This list could go for days but let’s focus on mom-specific ones for a moment.
[Not] Keeping our shit together
A facade of competence. A well put-together exterior but inside there might be a hot mess of insecurity and exhaustion. When the meltdown happens, it hits hard. Feelings of hopelessness, anxiousness, guilt, and like you’re failing your family. In reality, we probably we have our shit together pretty well but our own view can be drastically different. Maybe the house could use a mopping but if the kids are healthy and dressed in semi-clean clothes, I’ll call that a win. Mother’s of young kids in particular are surviving on leftovers and cold coffee so when things compound, it can get emotionally messy; a losing of one’s shit. Cut us a break and maybe buy a needed and well-deserved cup of warm coffee.
When will the public remember that kids act out? Those judgemental faces and scowls are incredibly helpful when my 2 year old had a full fledged freak-out because I took the candy they grabbed off the shelf for the 14th time. Kids can be assholes. Period. Remember when you were a little shit? No? Well, I’d be willing to bet your mom does! Don’t judge, dick.
Ah, one of my favorite things. Something that passes as undesirable, unprofessional, uneducated, and just downright rude. This little emotional release is one thing that keeps us from throat punching someone. Throat punching, now that IS rude, my friends (and assault) not swearing. Prioritize.
Now I’m going to get a little closer to the edge of unacceptable mom traits. A character flaw. Trashy. Not very lady-like. Should mom’s smoke? No, of course not. No one should smoke. It’s terrible for you! But it’s also a coping mechanism for those of us who prefer to not to move to horse sedatives to calm our nerves after the shit show of our daily lives. And in comparison to the other unhealthy things and junk we could put into our bodies, it could be worse.
A Dirty House
In an era where overtime reigns as king, kids are expected to be a 3+ sport athlete, dinners should be from scratch, and that it’s your turn to bring cupcakes to the PTO meeting–you are still expected to have an immaculate house. A house without the vaguest trace of a life outside of it, or inside of it for that matter. Kudos to those who can manage this balancing act and still have time to paint their nails. We are not those women here. So, move along, little unicorn. You’re not wanted.