You don’t have to be perfect…
Aside from being a Mom, a teacher, and writing for this incredible page, I also host a radio show.
Once in awhile my daughter co-hosts. We have a strict recording schedule so it’s important we get to the studio on time. As it got closer to going the other morning I went to G who was on her iPad and told her time to go. She didn’t really move.
I continued to round up our stuff. G was still on her iPad. I tapped my watch “ we gotta go”
We got ourselves together and got to the station with time to spare as we always do.
As we were sitting down getting ready to record I said sorry to G and told her I just hate to be late.
G proceeded to tell me I reminded her of these little robot dogs from her favorite graphic novel series who are always running around.
I freak out about the littlest thing. When I don’t need to, it will be ok.
I said “I just want everything to be good and go smoothly.”
To which my beautiful old soul told me that I need to be more like her and relax. Those little things don’t matter and I don’t need to be perfect.
It’s days later and those words are sticking in my head. I am actually considering a new tattoo.
I’m kinda not kidding. You know how badly I needed to hear that? Especially from her. I have mentioned this before. I have a lot of Mommy guilt. The massive amount of guilt that I have held onto is by no means gone, but I think moving forward I won’t beat myself up so much.
I will work on taking a step back. Slow down. If I’m being honest this is all going so fast and I feel like because I worried so much about being perfect, things being perfect I missed out on things with her.
I worry about her entering her teenage years and being mad. I never thought to think I was spinning around so much tightening corners and straightening crooked pictures (my analogy for my life) that she might not be mad but just breeze by.
That to me would be much worse.
Good, bad or otherwise she is my sun, moon and stars and I was so busy building a perfect universe I forgot to enjoy it.
So every night I go sit on her bed and ask her about her day until she kicks me out of her room.
I let her pick the music in the car so we can sing along.
I found a Mother/Daughter journal so even on those days she won’t talk at least she’ll write.
But most importantly I heard her. I hear her. I listen.
I don’t have to be perfect, the most important person in my life said so.
And neither do you Mommas.