When I think about being a good mom, images of me in a hooped skirt and apron pop into my head. I think of myself blissfully pulling something out of the oven, preferably something covered in chocolate, but wait, because I’m a good mom, it’s probably soy-based meatloaf or spinach pie, I don’t even know what spinach pie is, but I’m sure it tastes delicious, because hello? I’m a good mom.
Oh, and when I think about being a good mom, I never loose my temper. I’m patient, and abundant with love.
And I never raise my voice at my daughter because Berlyn doesn’t have a hearing problem, and my mom yelled.
And I never really liked that much.
Lately, I’ve become a yeller. A ferocious beastly yeller lady who is not a good mom at all. I don’t even pull stuff out of the oven. And you can forget about the skirt and apron, because I’m in sweatpants all day long.
Cozy, angry, sweatpants.
Take this morning for instance, I just got mad at Berlyn for needing my help while she ate her squeezie yogurt.
And then she got mad, and started flinging the stuff all over the place, and that’s when I lost my shit.
What kind of deranged, messed up person yells at a toddler for eating yogurt?
Me. That’s who.
I’m nomimating myself for a vacation.
But that’s just depressing. Because I can’t take a vacation. I’m having a baby soon, and believe me, no one wants to see all this lovin’ squeezed into a bathing suit.
I don’t know what to do.
**And that lady, in the picture above? Yeah, I’m pretty sure her spanich pie is on fire.