comparison is a cruel mother, but is she a better mother than me?

Confession: I compare myself to other mothers. A lot.

And I come to the same conclusion every time – every one of them is better at this than I am.

Now, I know that comparison is stupid. I know that. But, that doesn’t stop me from doing it. I also know that eating an entire package of Double Stuf Oreos in one sitting is stupid, but I still do that too.

And I knew I would lose my train of thought if I typed out o r e o s…gah.

Where was I…comparison, stupidity…oh!

So, it appears to me that every mother is a natural. Making their go at motherhood look completely effortless. Their execution, flawless. They’re as cool as the other side of the pillow, even as outnumbered as I am. They’re never in a frantic tizzy, scanning the playground for their child. It’s almost like they have eyeballs that float around outside their heads, always watching, so that they never have to leave their seat.

They are cool.
Freakishly confident.

And then there’s me. Running in 3 different directions, being screamed at by 3 different children. And wondering if I look half as crazy as I feel.


Spill it.

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