Being a mom is pretty awesome, not just because my young children run to me with outstretched arms and huge smiles, but because I’ve entered a sisterhood of women. Never in my life has it been so easy to connect with others. Lifelong friendships have started by standing at the bottom of a slide saying, “Cute kid. How old?”
The women who have accompanied me on my parenting adventure have made monotonous days more fun and tamed my feelings of isolation and self-doubt. I’ve admired many moms along the way—the ones who always have their shit together, the ones who model divine patience, and the ones who seem to execute every parenting decision with conviction.
But I also love the ones who forget to bring their diaper bag to playdates, the ones who drop the F-bomb under their breath, and the ones who openly say “I have no idea what I’m doing.” I am equally inspired by the women who nurse their kids for four years, and the ones who stock up on formula before the child is even born. I applaud the helicopter moms and the stand-back-and-trust ones, because I know both have loving intentions. I’m impressed by the ones who spend their days feigning interest in games of Candy Land and lead dinosaur marches around their houses. But I appreciate most the ones who are openly and proudly imperfect, the ones who embrace being just who they are, not only as mothers but as individuals too.