It’s Okay to Cry Over Spilled Milk.

You know that saying, “Don’t cry over spilled milk?” Well, I think they were talking to moms because it is the moms who cry in this situation.

The child inevitably gets a new glass magically filled by their caretaker pretty quickly.

I was running late, my version of late which is arriving somewhere later than 10 minutes early. I am habitually early to things, I do not like to arrive late. I like to be early enough to get my bearings before crowds get there. I have anxiety so being early helps me center myself by getting acquainted with my surroundings, feeling more confident and less lost.

So, when my child dropped her freshly poured glass of milk on the floor I lost it. I yelled, I am not so proud to admit this. In fact, typing these words out is rather difficult. I even yelled out bad words, explicit ones. I was not mad at my child, well a little. I was mostly mad at the extra work this was going to cause me and add in the fact that I will NOT be 10 minutes early. My anxiety will be at its peak. I cannot just leave spilled milk on the floor. We all know how bad old milk smells…gag!   

As quickly as my loud, harsh words flew from my mouth, I regretted them but it is too late the damage is done. I can’t take it back!

If it is not spilled milk it is spilled juice that sucks just as much. Moms everywhere know how lovely (insert sarcasm here) sticky, grimy, dirt covered floors are. It is the extra work for me that causes the tears. How much does it cost to replace the lost liquid? Pennies, well more than pennies but I simply cannot just wipe up the mess and move on, because as soon as I am on my hands and knees, I see how filthy my floor really is.

Then the downward spiral starts, the chain reaction, the first domino.

Cue the mom guilt, that heavy weight that we all bear wanting to be the best we can possibly be. None of us pictured being hot mess moms. We did not sit around dreaming of what life would like as mom with visions of sticky dirty floors, spit up in our unwashed hair, crumbs in our purse from broken bags of snacks, an extra 15 pounds that creates the most unflattering muffin top over the jeans we still squeeze into on that rare occasion that we leave the house in something other than yoga pants. Whew!

This is not how it was supposed to be.

I was supposed to be the gorgeous mom who bounced back right away, whose house is immaculate, children perfectly behaved and wearing the most stylish outfits ever to be had, as I stroll around the town with a smile on my face and a Starbucks cup in my hand.

Why did I imagine that this would be my life? Because that is how celebrities look and that is what I see on social media. No one is stopping by the average mom’s house in suburbia to document their life. Hey, if you are this beautiful amazing mom, kudos to you! Seriously, I know you all exist, I am just not one of you, I cannot be part of your club.

The club I am in wears yoga pants and will creates messes with you, get out the glitter and craft, then lose my mind over the mess a few hours later. Hey, I am not perfect I am just doing my best at this mom gig. It is hard, really hard!

A few weeks ago, I was meeting a friend and her kids at the park. I was on time no spilled milk today. She was late, very late, later than her usual 15 minutes late.

When she finally arrived more than 30 minutes later, she explained that her 4 year old decided it was a good idea to squirt the entire tube of toothpaste all over the sink smearing it everywhere creating a lovely minty concoction.

She had a choice, to just leave the mess or be very late and clean it up. She opted to clean it up knowing that sticky dry toothpaste is so much harder to clean than freshly squeezed toothpaste.

Motherhood is messy, quite literally,

Crumbs

Sticky floors

Unwashed hair

Mounds of laundry

Dishes piled high in the sink

Toys haphazardly strewn across the floor

Strangely enough, you will miss the chaos and the mess when they are fully grown and all you get is a quick text saying hi. Okay, I am lying the mess you will not miss but the little people running around the house wanting you to kiss away the boo boos you will miss.

My oldest is 19, I can no longer kiss away his hurt and the worrying about children never stops, sorry it doesn’t. At least when they are little a hug, a band aid or a kiss can melt away the hurt.

So if you find yourself crying over spilled milk know that you are not alone, there is another mom somewhere else, on her hands and knees on a dirty floor, crying right along with you.