Welcome Lizz to the NEW blog today for this week’s “I’m Not a Bad Mom Because…”. <—–If you don’t know about the series, click there. I met Lizz at BlogHer this year and she is such a sweet, funny girl. haha! Seriously though, please check out her blog and give her a big welcome. I LOVE what she has to say about being a good mom for her kid. Let her know what you think too!
When Cristi asked me if I’d like to post as part of her “I’m Not a Bad Mom” series, I kind of freaked out. Well, first I was totally flattered, since I’d never been asked to guest post, but then I freaked out.
Our Twitter conversation went something like this:
@MotherUnadorned Hey! Do you want to post for my Not a Bad Mom Series?
(Insert freaked out face)
@CanBeaFunnyGirl Umm… sure… what about?
@MotherUnAdorned Whatever you want! It needs to come from you.
@CanBeaFunnyGirl Hrm. I’ll have to get back to you.
And then I started brainstorming, finishing the sentence. “I’m not a bad mom because…”
OK. So many choices!
I’m not a bad mom because my kid was born at 28 weeks. I’m not a bad mom because he was formula-fed, or used disposable diapers, or because he is and will be an only child. Or because he watches TV, and wears clothes with licensed characters on them. I’m not a bad mom because I get him the occasional Happy Meal, and will feed him fish sticks or quesadillas for a week straight, because that’s all he wants to eat. He sometimes gets gross flakes on his scalp, and his fingernails get pretty grubby on a daily basis, and I don’t always worry about it.
I’m not a bad mom because I work out of the home and he’s at day care all day, or because I’m on medication for depression. I’m pretty vocal about my intense dislike of mushrooms; that doesn’t make me a bad mom either. I’m not a bad mom because I swear when he can hear me sometimes, or because I drink wine with dinner. I’m not a bad mom because I let the laundry pile up and have been known to have him wear a shirt that looks “clean enough.”
The point is, I am not a bad mom, no matter what people may say or think about the parenting choices I’ve made.
I’m just a mom.
I love that kid more than I thought humanly possible, and I’m trying my best.
I’ve never done this before; I’m finding my way, just like every other mom. No one has ever raised *my* Max before, so no one is better suited for the job than I. Even a woman with a dozen kids who has degrees in raising kids, doesn’t know more about mothering my child than I do.
All those things I listed above, they don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Max tells me every day how much he loves me, that I’m his “best girl” and that’s what matters. Because you know? That’s what it takes to say this: I’m a good mom.