Thank goodness it’s Friday. Sometimes I wonder, is it possible for the weeks to feel any longer? Then BOOM! The next week hits me like a ton of bricks. Each new Monday stares me in the face, “Mua ha ha! Take THAT Heather!!”
Thanks. I really appreciate the diabolical laugh you’ve thrown in there, Monday.
If you’re wondering, Desirae is mostly on the mend, but her little cold is sticking around like rice on the floor. Now I have contracted whatever cough it is she had. It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle.
When I’m sick, I like to keep at this stay at home mom thing. I just get up and push through, because I am awesome. I’m not letting this cough get me down! The house is sparkling clean. My laundry is washed and folded. Des and I have taken sweet and photogenic trips to the park. Tonight, I’m even making dinner from scratch.
HA HA HA HA!
In actuality, I’ve been a little bit (well, a lot a bit) irritable. I’m lucky that I at least mopped the floors this week and one load of laundry is sitting in the washer waiting (hoping) to be dried. Clean house? Home made dinners? Trips to the park? Not by a long shot. Des and I have quarantined ourselves in our tiny house, which means there has been a lot of Mickey Mouse Club House and way too much Instragram.
I am a huge fan of Instagram, but you know what’s hard? It gets in your head. I love seeing everyone’s pictures, but I hate questioning my ability as a mom afterwards. Don’t get me wrong. Instagram is probably my favorite form of social media. I understand we all want to put out our best work and capture those unforgettable moments. At least, that’s what I do. But after scrolling through everyone’s feeds, I can easily convince myself that I should be doing motherhood better. That I need to be doing more. Everyone posts unbelievably perfect photos. They all have the most eloquent things to say. Each post is bright, full of happiness, and soaked in white. I don’t know how people do it. The only white possession in my house is a $25 IKEA desk covered in pen scribbles ever since Desirae discovered pens have removable tops. Somehow it seems like all the other moms and bloggers have everything together, except for me. I wonder what I’m doing wrong or what secret trick I don’t know.
While I was scrolling through social media this week, I was encouraged to hear that Blake Lively agrees with me on this whole Instagram mom thing. I always knew we were soul sisters.
You see, at my house, I’m washing crayon marks off the floor, letting my kid eat a bag of Yogurt Melts for a snack, and trying to keep her from pulling plugs out of the electrical sockets. It’s as if children are on a mission to hurt themselves. As a mother, I’ve realized if you really want to childproof your house, you can never use your electrical sockets ever again. Goodbye lamps and hair dryers. I’ll see you in about three years.
I don’t know if I will ever understand how people make their photos look so bright and airy, as if they just stepped straight out of heaven. I am not a photographer by any means. My photographic process consists of taking a bajillion pictures on my phone, waiting until everyone in the house is asleep, testing out a million different editing tools on miscellaneous apps, and hoping that the picture turns out halfway Instagram worthy.
Yes, I know. It’s very scientific.
What I try to remember is that the perfect Instagram mom doesn’t actually exist. One picture perfect photo was taken in approximately three seconds. Those three seconds were probably preceded and proceeded by plenty of chaos, messes, screams, and bumps on heads. Every mom attempts to capture the perfect angle, with the right amount of sunlight, while also begging their kids not to break something or to smile for just a few more seconds. Then that one, perfect, three-second photo is saved until all the kids are finally bathed and actually sleeping in their beds. At the end of the day, each mama can look through the billion photos she took, edit one to perfection, and send it out into cyberspace.
So no, I don’t claim to be a photographer, but I don’t think my process is too far off from everyone else.
In reality, our perception of the perfect Instagram is only an idea in our heads. She doesn’t exist. It appears she does because each snap only embodies about three seconds of her entire day. It’s a little bit like the Wizard of Oz. All the munchkins thought The Wizard was great and powerful because he presented himself that way. But in truth, he was just a regular old man with all the same troubles and insecurities as everyone else in Oz.
There is no sense in comparing yourself to a person who isn’t real.
Instagram is only a collection of perfect three-second moments. I have a multitude of those flawless instances in every given day. So if that’s what makes a perfect Instagram mom, then I’m pleased to say I AM a perfect Instagram mom. As a matter of fact, we all are.
Have a great weekend, all you perfect Instagram mamas!