That’s it. I am exhausted by and infuriated with the supposed ideals of womanliness, motherhood and parenthood- not because I shun the very thought of achieving a goal or reaching an ideal, but because THEY ARE FALSE IDEALS. If I read one more post somewhere about how someone would rather be happy than perfect, or it’s okay not to be perfect, or you’re not perfect and that’s alright, or love your imperfections; my head may implode.
Let’s take on false ideal of a parent with kids who are always happy, always well-dressed, always eat what’s in front of them happily, who always is contently in love with their fellow parent. Let’s say we are constantly, patronizingly told it’s “OKAY” not to be that way. Ya think?
Parents are either encouraged to embrace all their imperfections (imperfections apparently are grubby kids, grumpy kids, pasta-only eating kids, non-blissed out partners) or to give up entirely trying to make anything “perfect”, rather than encouraged to feel normal human frustrations, or supported in their decisions or efforts, or to CHANGE THEIR IDEALS. Squeaky-clean, dinner-loving, good-mood kids and perpetually smiling other halves are certain days that happen, not perfection.
As a mom, and as a parent, generally, the amazements with little beautiful and astonishing things (kid recognizes a picture of family, kid tries a new food) are all the more stunning when you turn down the contrast between icky sticky real life and the fun awesome stuff. De-romanticize perfect. Re-define it, or better yet, throw out the concept- it is all things to be here, to be alive. It is gorgeous and hideous. It is giant and miniscule. It’s flat grey and shiny silver. It’s all real life. Day to day it’s neither perfect nor imperfect.