The last time I checked motherhood wasn’t a competitive sport. There are no Olympic trials. No medals. If this is true then why is it that the longer I’m in the world of motherhood the more I experience this phenomenon.
“Settle down.” Hank
Your child started walking? Well, their child was walking 6 months ago…on water.
Your child ate *gasp* a green vegetable? Well, their child only consumes green food…prepared by their own tiny baby hands in their own personal baby gourmet kitchen with granite countertops.
Your child peed on the potty? Their child eliminates liquid gold which they fashion into jewelry to sell on Etsy.
Of course, I’m exaggerating, but you probably do know one or two of the mothers to which I refer.
And I’m sure they are great mothers. Fantastic! Their kids will be just fine after a little therapy.
But if motherhood is going to be a competitive sport I’m tagging out.
I’d much rather play a pick-up game with the moms I’ve found that want to play alongside you. Through wins and losses — home runs and strike outs.
Hip Hip Hooray to them!
Yep. That’s a pile of laundry I could be folding instead of writing this.
And that bear? His diaper hasn’t been changed for weeks.