Why I Gave Up Being the Perfect Mom

I haven't been a stay at home mom the entirety of Hardy's life. I worked until he was 2 1/4. There was never any question of me staying home then - Justin was in grad school, and until we got over the pesky habit of eating, I needed to contribute monetarily to the household. In truth, I always felt guilty about working when Hardy was a baby because I was not working my dream job. It was a fine job, and the people were nice, but it was not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I longed for the time when Justin would be a professor and I would be home.

I thought I would be an entirely different type of stay at home mom than I really am. Before I started staying home, I envisioned a highly structured day for Hardy and myself, one in which we engaged in flash cards, worked on algebra, and conjugated irregular French verbs together (never mind the fact I took Spanish and Latin). We would whip up tasty meals together, chuckling happily over Hardy's attempts to master paella (which I can't eat anyway due to shellfish allergies). We would have sing-a-longs and perhaps even a puppet theater to rival the Von Trapps.

And then reality set in. By the end of the first week or so, I knew that there was no way I would ever be able to set up, let alone stick to, a highly structured plan for our days. I didn't realize that the walls would start to push in, making me so restless as to eagerly jump at the chance to run any errand with Hardy. I did not county on the unusually hot summer that welcomed us back to Tennessee, forcing us to stay inside.

We became busy - Hardy started to Mom's Day Out two days a week. That fact made me extremely guilty at first - I had one kid and maybe 850 square feet of duplex to keep clean - why did I need a day out? We found a mom's group, ostensibly for Hardy to socialize but really for me to maintain some semblance of sanity (without my mommy friends, and our monthly Mom's Nights Out, I would surely be in a loony bin somewhere). We went to the Discovery Center weekly. We played at the indoor playground at the mall - anything to get out of the house for a bit and to kill some time.

After the birth of Ellie, life became even less structured. My sweet angel girl wanted to eat every 2 hours and take 4 short naps a day - no time for singing sweet songs with Hardy or making our own butter. She was a different baby from Hardy, and I at times had no idea what to do with her.

At some point recently, I decided to stop feeling guilty over the type of Mom I am, and accept that I will never be a Martha Stewart type of mom. We are more likely to play tickle fingers over here than to conjugate irregular verbs. My kids might not be able to count to 10 in 4 languages, but they know how to build a turtle shell and pretend to be a turtle family with me. We might not sing folk songs together, but we have a blast cranking the Black Eyed Peas and dancing around the den.

I think by stop stressing over being the perfect Mom, and by being the best Mom I can be, I will actually end up a better person. Perhaps my kids seeing me stumble from time to time will make them more accepting of other's mistakes. Perhaps instead of being the perfect Mommy, I can be the Mommy that tried to teach them to stretch their imaginations, to love the places a good book can take you, and to always find time to dance in the aisle at the grocery store.