No matter how mature you are, what season of life you are in, or far you’ve come with this particular matter… I am going to venture to say that we all struggle with comparisons to some degree.
I know I have come a long way but it still gets me at times.
But comparisons can be so dangerous, painful, and devastating.
I really don’t care whether or not you are a single mom or happily ever after (ya, right!) married mom.
[You are a momma and your are loving your babes.]
I really don’t care if you were drugged up and happily laughed your baby in to existence, scheduled your c-section around your pedicure, or if your midwife hypnotized you in a giant kiddy pool in the middle of your living room.
[You gave birth, check!]
I really don’t care where your child sleeps… in your bed, in their bed or hanging from the ceiling.
I really don’t care if you stay home with your kids and make pinteresting art and recipes or if you drop those little suckers into the finest day care establishment while you go to work.
I really don’t care if you married super dad and all he ever wants to do is hang out with you and the kids or you married the super golfer that tries to fit you in from time to time.
I really don’t care if you breast feed (with a cover, without a cover, whatev) or bottle feed.
[Seems like you are getting the job done and feeding your baby. Nice work.]
Speaking of feeding… I really don’t really care if you feed your children only the purest/most natural/organic/non GMO foods our earth and Whole Foods has to offer or if you are on a first name basis with the kid who works at the nearest drive thru.
[Kids have full bellies. Done.]
I really don’t care if you cloth diaper, disposable diaper, biodegradable/chlorine free diaper, or if you just let them air it all out.
[It’s a nasty process no matter how it is done.]
I really don’t care if your kid is in every single camp, sport, or lesson possible.
I really don’t care if your kid is on the honor roll or if they are the team all-star.
I really don’t care if your kid is a couch potato or a book worm.
I really don’t care if your kid goes to public school, charter school, home school, school on the moon… whatever.
[Your kids are getting an education. Good job.]
I really don’t care what you look like…
I don’t care if you are skinny or thick, perfect and plastic, saggy and squishy, or tatted and pierced.
I don’t care if you are a natural beauty or you paint your face every morning.
I don’t care if wear designer clothes or you shop at consignment stores.
I don’t care if you don’t even know your natural hair color anymore.
Sometimes I feel like motherhood is the grown up/mommy version of Mean Girls.
We somehow (subconsciously?) think tearing down another women will make us feel better about ourselves and our own insecurities.
When it is all said and done there is no prize to be won for feeling better about yourself.
Instead, you end up with a heart and head full of resentment, hatred, jealousy, bitterness, depression, anxiety, and probably more insecurities.
I can’t judge your parenting… I don’t know your kid like you do.
I can’t judge your marriage… I don’t know your husband like you do.
I can’t judge your life… I don’t know your story like you do.
Let’s stop the judgement.
Let’s stop being so hard on one another
And while we are at it… let’s stop being so dang hard on ourselves!
The way you choose to birth/feed/educate your kid really doesn’t affect me. I would venture to say that when we judge these things it is because we are simply insecure with our own decisions.
What works best for you? your baby? your other kids? your marriage? your family?
Then… do that thing.
Pay careful attention to your own work, for then you will get the satisfaction of a job well done, and you won’t need to compare yourself to anyone else.
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