My kid had chips for dinner and other momfessions

My toddler has hit that stage of toddlerhood where he just refuses to eat. Anything. And I have to admit that I gleefully fed him a bag of sun chips for dinner the other night and let him wash them down with a sippy cup full of apple juice (no watering down) spiked with his daily dose of Claritin. As I sat there, congratulating him for actually eating something, I realized that I should probably be feeling a teensy tiny bit guilty for giving in and letting him be the boss. But letting him eat chips for dinner? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I suppose I can be comforted knowing that as the years progress, so will all of my other mom guilts. Cheers!

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He obviously has such a healthy diet… snuggling fast food in bed and all.

So, here’s my confessional with some choice momfessions of other things I can be found guilty of. Maybe you can relate?:

I let YouTube babysit my kid.

This is probably the biggest “no-no” that I swore I would never do. I was going to be limiting my kid’s screen time because there would be no screen time. I was going to be engaged with my kid 150% of the time. He wouldn’t learn from educational videos, he would learn from me.

Now? Ha! When I’m really desperate, I’ve been known to just throw my phone at my kid (obviously not aiming for his actual self, just his general vicinity because he doesn’t need any more bruises than he already has from tripping all over the place). The kid can find Peppa the Pig within 10 seconds flat.

Both of my kids were/are mostly bottle-fed.

And you know what, I’m so sick of feeling guilty of this. You were able to give your children the holy nectar of the boobs? Awesome. You turned to the bottle for a little help? Good for you. Will we ever agree that a fed baby is a healthy baby and stop assuming that we know what’s best for someone else’s child?

Sometimes I go to the gym just so that I can have some “me” time.

Oh my goodness. I’m convinced that the $78 drafted out of our bank account every month to the local YMCA is the best money we’ve ever spent. I might only be going to an hour yoga class with people who are twice or three times my age and in way better shape, or huffing it on the stationary bike. But that alone time where it’s just me and my headphones is sometimes pure bliss.

File_000 (1)I compare myself to other moms. All. Of. The. Time.

It probably doesn’t help that the majority of moms I know, I only know through social media these days. But I constantly feel like I don’t measure up when I scroll past posts on my newsfeed. This is probably a bit toxic. And I should probably stop. But, I think we’re all guilty of this. I also know that the majority of us only show our best side on the internet, and that there’s a lot more to everyone than their latest Instagram photo or Facebook status.

I have no f****** idea what I am doing.

I also couldn’t possibly keep track of the amount of times I rely on google to help me parent. My search history is basically a long list of: “is this normal? should I call their doctor? why is my kid doing this?”

Smart phones for the win.

Nap-time is my favorite time of day.

Sometimes, when I go to bed at night, I’m already fantasizing about nap-time the next day and all of the things that I probably won’t get done, but I will tell myself I’m going to do anyway. The promise of nap-time is also what gets me through most mornings.

I’m finding it really difficult to embrace my “mom bod.”

In fact, I just avoid the mirror altogether these days. I’m all for these “empowering mothers” campaigns where everyone embraces their foreign curves and stretch marks. I desperately wish I could jump on the bandwagon, but I’m not there yet and I’m not sure if I ever will be.

I frequently fantasize about staying in a clean hotel room, all by myself.

Maybe some people close their eyes and picture themselves on a sunny beach, waves crashing at their feet, and an umbrella clad drink in their hand. Not me. Anytime I need to calm down I just picture myself in a soft bed with crisp white linens, no cookie crumbs or dog hair littering the sheets, and a massive soaker tub filling up with steamy water and bubbles for days.

 

So spill it–what is your mom heart guilty of?

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