The perfection of imperfection.




I think…
  • I let my daughter watch too much TV.
  • I don’t feed her enough vegetables.
  • She definitely ate too many cheese puffs today.
  • I don’t give her enough attention.
  • I give her too much attention.
  • Did she just bump her head on the coffee table?
  • I cussed. She’s definitely going to repeat that at school.
  • I don’t read to her enough.
  • She just ate cat food. That’s great.
  • I let her play with my phone so she would be quiet for five minutes. Shit. Did I say that out loud?


The list never ends. I am struggling with this perfect version of motherhood in my head. I want to be a good mom. I want my daughter to be a good kid. I want to give her all the tools she needs to be a decent human being.

How do I know if I’m doing a good job? I don’t. I may never know. Hopefully she doesn’t end up on drugs or in prison. I guess I’ll know then, but right now, she‘s one. I’ve got some time to see the results.

Motherhood is NOT a destination. It’s a journey. There’s no tangible unit of measure for the quality of the job. I’m comparing myself to other moms, and I feel like I’m failing.


I know I’m not the only one.

We are definitely our own toughest critics. I hate that inadequate feeling, but it’s always there. It nags at me daily. I try so hard for my daughter. I do EVERYTHING for her. What if I’m doing it all wrong?

At the end of the day, all we can do is breathe. Breathe it all in. Their giggles. Their tears. Their hugs. Their love. Even their tantrums. Embrace the chaos. It won’t be here long.

Life is so freaking fragile. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Take it all in, mama.

The truth is that all the imperfection is pretty freaking perfect.