Don’t judge me because I still have pajama pants on…yes, I know it’s 12pm. Yes, I know I should have had multiple moments to change. No, I don’t care, especially after experiencing what could have been the longest teething/sick baby sleepless marathon ever.
Don’t judge me that I have NO idea I have dried saliva on the side of my face. That should tell you that I didn’t have a chance to check how I looked in an actual mirror, BUT my kid made it to school in time. Boom. Drops the mic.
Don’t judge me if I completely fall out of conversation with you. It has NOTHING to do with you, it usually means my kid is yelling, I just remembered something, or I’m sleeping with my eyes open.
Don’t judge me if I have replaced adult words to fit a more “younger” audience. Sure I’m a grown 30-something-year-old that excuses herself to use the “potty.”
Don’t judge me if many of the examples I use to relate to your experience revolve around my children. Some are actually quite funny.
Don’t judge me if my laundry pile looks like I’m creating a replica of Mt. Ranier. I believe in cleanliness, just not folding. Definitely not folding.
Don’t judge me if I start yelling on the phone. It’s REALLY not you, it’s aimed at my kid who is putting Sharpie on her face. (WHERE did she find the Sharpie?!)
Don’t judge me if I celebrate milestones on social media, such as when my kid goes to the bathroom on their own. Shoot, or even when they allow me to go all by myself. It’s amazing how kids tend to follow you when you’re: a) on the phone b) in the bathroom, or c) trying to have a conversation with anyone, but them.
Don’t judge me if I don’t answer my phone and prefer to text. Remember the yelling reference. Yes, texting may be more productive and less hostile.
Don’t judge me if I repeat myself, trust me, I already feel like a broken record.
Don’t judge me if I sway back and forth at a store’s checkout line… sans child. I may just do this until my kids are teenagers, especially after all the rocking back and forth we’ve done since they were infants.
Don’t judge me if I can’t make up my mind on certain social matters, especially when I have to regularly make decisions and reinforce them on a regular basis. Where do I want to eat? If there’s wine and I can have an adult conversation without someone throwing their food…I’m there.
Don’t judge me if I bring chips and salsa or wine to any potluck, more than likely we just hit the store on the way there or it’s been a rough week. Hey, but who doesn’t love that combo? Amiright? Thank you in advance for the dinner free card.
Don’t judge me if my car looks like a trashcan on wheels. Trust me, I clean this car regularly, but the small occupants and main conspirators believe in composting. I’m sorry valet drivers, especially if you’re not a parent. Who knows, we may have just provided another method of birth control.
DON’T JUDGE ME because I don’t parent like you. Or do pregnancy like you. Or do woman-ing like you (if that’s a word).
In all seriousness, at the end of the day, I may look like a hot mess or sound like a crazy lady. My adult vocabulary may not be as extensive as before, and my hair and makeup may not be on point, but in the midst of madness, motherhood has given me MY OWN clarity. It might not look like yours, but we all have our own reasons and priorities. We can’t fully understand someone’s story unless they share it, but WE CAN be accepting.
As women, as mamas, as human beings…we should encourage, understand, and empower one another. Shaming others does none of those. Remember, we may be running late or may look like we just rolled out of bed because we were trying to be the best parent to our child. No one can define what that looks like — every parent, just like every child, is different. Let’s really celebrate these crazy moments by sharing a laugh with one another, a hug to provide reassurance, or just lend a friendly ear. One thing we can’t do…don’t judge.