The Story Behind the Blog

For the last month or so, I’ve wanted to start blogging again. (I use the term “again” loosely because while I’ve tried to blog on multiple occasions, I’ve never managed to write more than 2 or three posts before giving it up.) But, every time I sat down to write my first post, I found myself with too much to say, too little time, and too much self-doubt. As I sat on my couch (typically after midnight), proofing, editing, and rewriting my potential “first post” I always managed to convince myself that it just wasn’t good enough, that no one would want to read it, and that I would never be able to keep it up, so I would abandon the whole idea and head to bed.

Last night, while trolling Facebook in lieu of blog writing, I came across a post titled “Keeping it Real.” It was written by a mother of three who is most definitely a more accomplished blogger and from her post a more enlightened mother. In it she wrote, “Parenthood isn’t about perfection. How could it be? At its core, it is the business of imperfect humans raising other imperfect little humans to the best of their ability and loving them with everything they’ve got.” --- (WOW, that was powerful!!!) Now, to most of you this phrase probably seems obvious or insignificant, but it really resonated with me. For as long as I can remember I’ve been a self-proclaimed perfectionist. While it has definitely contributed to many of my accomplishments/successes in life, it has also hindered me on many occasions. It’s an impossible goal and pursuit of it commonly leads to disappointment.

Before becoming a mother, I was able to escape my imperfect life by dreaming about that next phase where things would change and finally become PERFECT. When my parents were divorcing and my household was chaotic and uncomfortable, I looked forward to college where I would be able to get away from it all and be on my own. When I felt overwhelmed by term papers and a lack of finances I dreamt of the day when I would finally have a full-time teaching job. (Yeah, I’ll admit, that one was pretty stupid considering teaching is one of the few professions that require homework on a regular basis and the pay is less than desirable.) When despite losing 40lbs I felt fat, I looked forward to getting pregnant because it would be the first time in my life where I would be able to celebrate my midsection versus sucking it in or attempting to camouflage it with each new outfit. And finally, when the baby weight had spread to all parts of my body, I was 9 days overdue, and a sweaty exhausted mess I dreamed of my son’s birth so that I could finally have my body back and be the PERFECT mom.

However, I sit here now, one year later, with 30lbs of baby weight to lose, a guestroom full of unfinished laundry, and an adorable son who bites me every time he gets sleepy, hungry, frustrated, excited, and well pretty much anytime he feels like it. My life is not perfect and it never has been, but unlike the past, I’m not looking forward to that next phase because I really want to enjoy this one. My son will only be this age once and I want to experience every minute of it (even if it comes with bruises and teeth marks). So, I guess my only option is to get over it. It is time that I learn to love my friends, family, myself, and my life for exactly what it is, perfectly imperfect.