“that mom”

I love that I can be having a perfectly normal day, and out of nowhere I look at Avery, and my heart literally feels like it’s going burst out of my chest.  No one warned me about these moments.  That’s what’s amazing about them.  They happen completely out of the blue.  She can be sleeping in her crib, and I go in to check on her, and she just looks so damn peaceful that BOOM. Heart explosion.  It’s all just so much more than I expected.  Yes, I knew I would be crazy in love with my daughter but I didn’t think I would turn into one of “those moms”.  There’s a chance this post might offend some mothers who are “those moms” but try to remember that I am waving the white flag and totally surrendering to the fact that I am “that mom” right along with you.

I always HATED the phrase, “You don’t understand until you’re a mother”.  I always rolled my eyes and thought, “I obviously DO understand that a mother loves her child”.  I HATED that Facebook moms felt the need to post photos every single day of their kid, and update us all on how potty training is going.  I always thought, “NO ONE CARES,”  but at the same time I was posting photos from my weekend spent at a bar somewhere, making silly faces and not caring about a thing.  Now I realize those moms probably saw my photos and thought, “NO ONE CARES!” It’s so funny, in hindsight.  Living in a social media crazed world, we just post about what we love and where we are and what we are doing.  I always told myself I wouldn’t be “that mom” that shared my daughter’s first EVERYTHING, but fuck it I know I will.  I didn’t understand before, because I wasn’t a mother.  When your entire world revolves around the tiny human that you made, what do you expect?  Granted, I do share other things, but I have struggled with feeling like I’m annoying people with my posts about my own daughter.  I actually just discovered about a month ago that someone I was friends with in high school recently deleted me from Facebook.  I don’t know why I let this bother me for as long as it did.  He isn’t anywhere close to where I am in life.  He is traveling, working on his career, partying and being a single 20 something guy.  I’m being a mom still figuring out how to balance my daughter, my career, and my social life.  We pretty much have nothing in common anymore, but it still hurt my feelings.  That’s when I realized I’m “that mom”.  I wanted to message him and say, “Why did you delete me?  Don’t you realize you are missing photos of my cute baby?!  SHE’S THE CUTEST BABY IN THE WORLD ARE YOU CRAZY AND ALSO I AM NOT A REGULAR MOM IM A COOL MOM OKAY?!”  I’m insane.  I know.  Instead of sending him that and making myself look batshit crazy, I decided it’s best if people who don’t want to see this part of my life delete me.  Yall know I’m not about negativity.  No, I don’t give a shit about his slice of pizza he’s eating at 3 am after leaving the club but I wasn’t going to delete him for it.  So after he did me this favor of deleting me I decided to not give a shit if people actually want to see what I post.  I don’t enjoy that every time I open Facebook someone is sharing an overweight guy dancing in a tiny pair of panties, but there it is!  People have a weird sense of humor I swear.  Anyway, I will continue to post photos of the one thing I love more than anyone or anything because she is cute as hell.  I will probably be “that mom” right up til I’m “that grandma” with my phone in your face showing you 50 pictures that are basically all alike.  Get over it.

 

dsc_0345dsc_0385dsc_0458dsc_0463dsc_0470dsc_0479dsc_0506dsc_0522dsc_0557_bwdsc_0631dsc_0635

2 thoughts on ““that mom”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s