Where we don’t need to be praised for being real.
Where real is the norm, not the minority.
Where honesty is expected, not astonishing.
Where we don’t feel the need to explain why moms sometimes cry on the couch alongside their tantruming toddlers.
We all know that there are really good days and then there are really, really fucking bad days.
We all know that our bodies and minds are forever changed post baby, so we don’t need to explain why stretch marks or hormones or no makeup Tuesdays.
We all know that we can look like shit and still have our shit together. Or not.
Either way, we’re fine.
We’re fine because there is no prize for perfection. There is no right way to do this batshit crazy job. There is no real reason to worry.
Because we’re fine.
.
.
.
I mean…we could probably use some more coffee, a full-time babysitter, an extra 1,000 dollars a month and some underwear that fits. But mostly, we’re fine.
Comments