Keeping Up Appearances

The greatest secret that I've learned since becoming a parent is the usefulness of "keeping up appearances." With the birth of my son, this didn't really come into play all that often, but since the birth of my daughter, it's amazing how frequently I fall back on this. The basic theory of this is that I can look like roadkill as long as no one is around to see me or my children.

During the average week, while I barely hold on to my sanity, as long as I'm inside my home. I just don't care. I have so many other things to do that most of the things that used to rank fairly high in importance to me are no longer even on the radar. I fondly remember a time that I got my hair cut and styled regularly, now I consider it a plus if I manage to brush it sometime during the day. I remember purchasing new clothes regularly, now I quickly check my clothes to make sure that there are no holes before I put a shirt on that I know is about 3 years old. Once as soon as I spilt anything on my clothes I would immediately change into something new, now I make sure that the new clothes that I do buy are dark colours so that when my son wipes his face off on my leg, the stains don't show. And I think that I may vaguely remember how to put on mascara.

In the average week, I consider it a good day if I remember to brush my teeth. I dress so that I can drive my husband to work but most of the time my clothes don't match, and I wear clothes that at one time I would have shuddered to even own. Most days when my husband gets home, he finds me disheveled, usually with a cry baby still awake, with my hair hanging limply out of whatever hair tie that I grabbed dangling over one shoulder, and my crooked glasses sliding down my face (my son bent one arm). Our home looks like several wild baboons have been frolicking without supervision, with random dishes stuck somewhere in the kitchen, but almost never in the sink and more toys then any child should rightfully own scattered everywhere. And I still consider it a good day as long as I don't have baby spit up on my clothes or pablum smeared across my cheek.

However, if anyone is going to come and visit, or I'm to go anywhere. My hair is newly brushed (as are my teeth) I have makeup on, I'm dressed in clean matching clothes. My house is tidy, my dishes are all done and my children look like something found in a Baby GAP. As soon as someone calls and says, well, why don't I stop by? I run around like a madman, cleaning up frantically (you don't want to see the rooms that people aren't allowed in like my bedroom) with a toothbrush in my mouth. I've become paranoid that people without children judge me, heck, I've become paranoid that people who have children who are grown and people who have children that are my kids age but are handling it better then me are all judging me. And so I fake it. My life would be so much easier if I didn't have to do this, if I could just be honest and say I'm overwhelmed, instead of pasting a bright smile on my face and saying, "Oh well, little Ben is such a helper, he cleaned this whole room by himself! And Mackenzie is such a perfect angel" and swallowing the truth that I want to say of "Oh you mean the little devil that made me fill the toy box 6 times because he kept dumping it out? That kid?"

So Why do I keep doing this, why don't I show the world my disheveled regular self? Because mothering has become a competitive sport. All of the Martha Stewarts of the world are held up as this epitome that we need to attain. I'm not a good mother if I don't have a perfect white house with perfect little children in beautiful clothing, that is always clean, who I feed only organic food (no McDonald's doesn't count unfortunately) who are intelligent and bright, reading before they enter kindergarten, who can count and write and draw pretty pictures quietly in the corner, who potty trained by the time they were 1 and who never throw temper tantrums, beat up other kids at the playground, throw their toys at me, refuse to eat solid foods, who never scream "no" at me until they turn red in the face, or seem to just be testing their lungs for hours on end. Children who don't colour all over my walls, or blow their noses on my sleeve or fight going to bed for hours on end only to wake up at 5 am. Mother's regularly compare their parenting style, what they do and don't do that makes them superior over other parents, and what their "little bundle of sunshine" can do earlier then yours which makes them the better parent. Instead of cutting each other a break and being understanding with a "Man, I was there too, it does get better (once they move out)", we are each other's harshest critic, whispering to our friends behind one another's back "Do you know what she fed little Jamie for lunch the other day? Gummie worms and apple juice and it wasn't even organic apple juice!" *shocked gasps all around* all the while you're guiltily thinking, at least she fed him apple juice, I gave mine pop. Everyone should cut everyone else a break, but we won't and so I continue "keeping up appearances."

And to anyone out there who thinks that maternity leave is "vacation," your wife or girlfriend should first smack you (because I know you're a man) and you should really try walking a week in our outdated jam smeared shoes before judging.