Not So Super Mom

When Mason was a baby, I felt like Super Mom.

We played, he laughed, I made all of his baby food from fresh fruits and vegetables, he was always dressed in cute little outfits, and I took a hundred pictures a day.  I blogged at least five times a week, sometimes twice a day.  Even before he could understand English, I was teaching him about the world, constantly talking to him.  We celebrated every milestone.  I had it all under control.

But Oliver.  Oh, Oliver.  We still play and we still laugh and I still talk to him like he can understand what I'm saying - that much is the same.  But this is his second blog post in his six months of life and there's a butternut squash that's been sitting in the refrigerator for a week.  He can usually be found attached to my boob, most often naked because well, what's the point of getting dressed when you're constantly vomiting on yourself?  I forget to take pictures.  He cries a lot.

I cry a lot more, too.

I love that baby to death, with every ounce of my being, but my god - it's so hard sometimes.  The struggle isn't with him though.  It's not with Tyler, either, even though we bicker when I feel like he's being critical about my parenting or when I get jealous that he gets to spend a solid HOUR alone in the car everyday, going back and forth to work.  In silence, if he wants!  I can't even fathom the silence.

The struggle is with myself.  The struggle is in learning to let go of how in control I felt six years ago.    It's in the realization that although I'm not quite Super Mom, I'm doing the best I can.  It's in learning that it isn't a negative reflection on my parenting every time Ollie cries.  It's in understanding that Mason doesn't mind if we don't get to play together as often, because he has Tyler to hang out with when I need to lay down on the couch while Oliver is permanursing for what feels like the fiftieth time today.

It's taken me three days to finish this short blog post.

It's all going to be okay though, that much I know.  The only one who cares that the house is a mess is me.  The rest of the family is thrilled that we're having pizza for dinner for the third time this week.  And Ollie looks at me with those big blue eyes and I can't imagine being any more loved, even if I did have this mom thing a little more under control.

Sometimes, you just need to take a deep breath and let it be.