Perfect mums are imperfect

In the photo, you see us moms in 2015 turning a corner of Starbucks into a playground so we could enjoy our coffee.  ☒

This morning, after two particularly rough nights, a physically and mentally exhausting day yesterday, Oliver decided to cry and scream at the top of his lungs while I changed his dirty diaper. Nothing could calm him down. When this happens, I usually react in one of two ways: either I shut down and change him in silence while he screams, or I keep repeating kind—but wasted—words. 

This morning, after two particularly rough nights, a physically and mentally exhausting day yesterday, an endless, noisy, and stressful diaper change, my husband decided to say, «When you're tired, you talk to Oliver disrespectfully. You should be more patient; you shouldn’t take it out on him». 

Awful. Timing. I lost my temper with him too. But that's another story. 

The truth is, Alex is right. When I’m tired, I lose my patience, sometimes even my temper. I say things I don’t like and speak out of frustration. I’m human. 

Of course, I’d love to be calm and composed all the time, but it doesn’t work like that. Being alone with your little one all day is tough—so tough that sometimes I need to take a deep breath before picking him up or talking to him. And I do it often: I’ve taken more deep breaths in the past ten months than in 30 years of life. Breathing is the only way I know to pause and choose to express my frustration differently. 

Because yes, I’m human, but being human doesn’t mean I can’t learn to manage my emotions more effectively. It’ll take time—no one taught me how to do this when I was a child—but I can learn. I just need to "do the work." 

But losing my temper with Alex this morning reminded me of something important: my husband isn’t here to see how calm I am as a mom for most of the day. He doesn’t see the work. He’s not here when Oliver screams because I won’t let him play with the printer, and I’m the one teaching him to handle that frustration. He’s not here when Oliver cries if I step away for a minute, and I’m the one helping him cope with separation. He’s not here when I finally sit down at the computer for a couple of hours of work, only for Oliver to wake up. He’s not here when Oliver refuses to eat lunch, and I patiently sit with him for an hour. He’s not here when Oliver wakes up just as my lesson starts, and I go to him with a smile, no matter how I feel. 

So when Alex says, «You should be more patient», he’s really referring to the 15% of the time—the part he sees. And I understand why he feels entitled to say it: during the day, I’m the one raising our child, and that’s an enormous responsibility. So yes, I should be more patient. If I were a perfect mom, I would be patient all the time.  

But the perfect mom doesn’t exist.  

The perfect moms I’ve seen do the work to learn how to manage their emotions, but in the meantime, they lose their patience and then repair. They say things they don’t mean and then take the time to explain why they said them. They feel frustrated and learn to sit with that frustration. They cry when they’ve had enough and aren’t afraid to show their vulnerability to their kids. They do their best but aren’t afraid to admit when they don’t know what they’re doing or when they’ve made a mistake. They drop off and pick up their kids from school every day, but if they see a chance to skip it and spend more time on themselves, they take it. If they don’t feel like cooking, they defrost some vegetable soup and say, "This is what’s for dinner—if you don’t want it, you’re free to skip it."  

Perfect moms let their kids play on Starbucks’ not-so-clean floor to enjoy a much-needed coffee and chat.  

Perfect moms are, in reality, imperfect.  

What does a perfect mom look like to you? Share your thoughts in the comments.