Alpha Mum Goes to Rehab


Before I was a mummy, I was Alpha Mum.

 Though I had never sweated through 45 minutes of psychological warfare with a two-year-old in order to do nothing but persuade the child to put on socks, I was convinced I knew better than not just some, but all, of the mums around me. Why did they feed their kids such trash? Why were their kids so out of control? Why didn’t they have any interest in anything but nap schedules, butt paste and hooter hiders anymore? And for the love of all that is fashionable and sacred, why oh why couldn’t they manage to go to the mall looking like human beings and not like something that emerged out of last week’s laundry bin?

Then Baby Number 1 arrived. And all of a sudden I found myself incapable of having a conversation that didn’t revolve around my own breasts and their amazing milk-making capacities or my 6 week old genius’ astounding abilities to burp and fart. I’m sure my non-mommy friends were amused. But there’s more. As time went on, I lost all perspective and began to believe that anything that was not currently covered in peanut butter was high fashion and that no one could actually tell that I’d been wearing the same greasy pony tail since the Clinton Administration. 

Now that I’m 6 years into mommyhood, I’d love to tell you that I’ve got it together on the Mum Front and that my boys eat no less than 26 servings of fruits and veggies at every meal, mostly all kale, brussel sprouts and edamame. Cuz you know they love that stuff. And that we never ever watch TV. Well except the History Channel and those Your Baby Can Learn Calculus videos, of course. Because we all just go gaga over those fosisticated educational programs.

But unfortunately it’s a Pandora’s Box of lies. And the truth lies somewhere in the back of my filth encrusted minivan somewhere beneath the Happy Meal Toys, sand, dirt, storehouse of nappys, balled up underwear and sippy cups growing mold like an out of control science experiment. And so, I had to break down and admit that I was 26 kinds of wrong. Motherhood is wonderful. But motherhood can be hard. Or at least harder than it looks, anyway. And now, when anyone who has no kids of their own tries to give me parenting advice, I just smile, tighten up my greasy ponytail and nod. Because really, until you have kids of your own, there is nothing you can say