Let’s get real, shall we…
Can we all just stop the pretending for a moment?
Who else feels like a disorganized mess? I mean where is the clean house, the organic home cooked meals, the workout DVD at? Why am I 17 months postpartum and still wearing my maternity jeans?
Why do I feed my child waffles with syrup that may or may not contain high-fructose corn syrup because I forgot to check? And, did that McDonald’s french fry really just slip in my kids mouth without my permission!?!
I am going to lay all my confessions out right here for you
Why? Because I know that profile picture, that selfie, that cute pic of your child laughing… took about 50 takes, and, behind those family portraits? You guys were arguing and getting frustrated between takes.
So, here are my confessions to make you feel better about your life. Sit back and laugh at mine, while reading intended run on sentences, because they increase the intensity of the mess.
I eat ice-cream, daily. I want to lose 50 pounds, but, I eat ice-cream daily.
My house is a wreck. I clean my house on Saturday and by Wednesday… my house is a wreck.
We have enough clothing for a family of 5. We are a family of 3; the majority of our clothes are PJ’s.
Sometimes I wake up and make a healthy breakfast. Sometimes…is really only 5 times in the past 17 months.
I can organize your life in 2 minutes. My life can’t even be organized by Alejandra Costello, the most organized woman in America. But I can whip you into shape really fast.
I look forward to bedtime because I can eat ice-cream; I eat ice-cream daily
My son is 17 months and sleeps in the bed with us. He watches Paw Patrol and Bubble Guppies every night before bed.
He doesn’t sit in a high chair.
Nope, high chairs are for babies. He either sits in this contraption from the 70’s, that was probably recalled because I have never seen one in my life until my MIL gave it to us for our son…OR….he sits on the table, that we don’t have.
We don’t have a table. Our kitchen leans.
So, plates fall off and chairs are in danger of tipping over, so…We 3 sit at this lovely piece of wood on the wall.
As I type this, in view, is a zebra, a towel on the floor, a book about boundaries (which I need to create), an empty Dr. Pepper bottle, a dying plant, instruction pamphlet for some device, I don’t know what. One flip-flop, a box of diapers…
And…. a grocery sack from Aldi, you know, that inexpensive grocery store? It sits next to a $900 sweater someone didn’t WANT that they thought I would want, but I can’t wear it because it is 4 sizes too small and… I eat ice-cream daily.
Plus, they probably wanted it, but they felt bad for me and figured if I saw this, 4 sizes too small sweater, hanging in my closet, that I would get motivated to not eat ice-cream daily.
It will never fit me.
Yep, I had it all planned out. My entire pregnancy, consuming organic foods; making healthy choices. I was going to walk my “just lost 50 pounds” self every day. When my son was born, he would bathe in only the most organic products. I would slather him in the most fragrant lotions and dress him in the finest clothing. My home would be clean.
I would get out and be present in the world with my son, daily. We would attend play dates. We would be all I ever dreamed as mother and child.
As we all can see, that isn’t happening. And you know what? It’s okay. Because…
We laugh daily.
My son loves when all 3 of us climb in the bed and watch his favorite TV shows.
When Mommy gets brave enough to get the ice-cream out in front of baby, she gives him some and he squeals.
The lack of a kitchen table has prompted us all to squeeze into a tight space and really bond…like, really. It also calls for many picnics outside on a blanket in the backyard.
The wreck of a house I am in, signifies that life is lived here. My son gets to play without being scolded for touching the valuables. He can run free in the kitchen because there is more space without above said table.
And, I have a new piece to add to my family of 5 clothing collection, a $900 sweater to remind me that I once would fit in it, and strut my stuff…but my new 50 pounds heavier body is okay if I don’t anymore.
Well, we are keeping it real, right?
I am semi-okay that I won’t fit in it. The vain part really wants to show it off. But, the reasonable part remembers this body birthed a baby that it wanted for 15 years.
It housed a child that was in danger of being miscarried. This body spent 4 months on the strictest bed rest in order to save the life inside of it. This body continues to nurture the child it bore 17 months postpartum. While there may be messy things in my disorganized life, really it’s okay, because it’s really all just noise.