To Mothers: I Salute the Crap Out of You

I’m not a mom yet. Soon, I hope to be. Most of the precious women in my life are mothers. I’ve learned so much from all of you. I watch closely (not creepily behind a bush - all the time) and I’m amazed by how you love and nurture your children while coping with the kind of stress that ends up creating Amanda Bynes’ at home YouTube videos.

I want all mothers to know that I salute the mother loving crap out of you. While this list is specific towards mothers of young children, I recognize parenting just gets weirder, not easier, and we’re all so thankful for the moms that pave the way towards Eye-twitch Crazyville. 

Here’s my quick shortlist of why you all amaze me.

Moms can hold a screaming toddler by their ankles without breaking stride.

You know that thing kids do when they’re having an epic meltdown and their bodies turn into some kind of wiggly, jelly type substance you can’t really get a handle on? Somehow, with just the slightest turn of hand, you all manage to catch slippery children at the last moment around their ankle, one handed. You complete your shopping list while carrying them screaming upside down and then sign for your receipt at checkout, all without breaking stride.

How you do it, I’ll never know. But I do know this - I salute you.

Moms are high functioning lack of sleep-aholics.

While staying in Pasadena with Jessi to work on HooHas business after a conference, we finally managed to get to bed. At approximately 3 am, I was awoken by her 5 year old son standing next to me.

“But I think you forgot to get me chips.”

“What?” I rubbed my eyes and then looked deeply into his to A) discover if this was real and B) discover if he thought it was real or operating on some childlike subconscious play land where he rode in on Buzz Lightyear’s wings on a mission for (obviously very addictive) chips.

“Honey, it’s too late for chips. Let me help you back to bed,” but by the time I got the blankets off he had ripped into his parent's room asking them for the chips I was obviously not willing to get him. (Now that I think of it, I caught a glimpse of Jessi dead asleep while her son tried negotiating a potato chip treaty with his dad. Maybe this should be a Father’s Day post. Whatever, it’s too late now, I’ll keep going).

The point is, I can’t count the times I’ve been on the phone with some of you, listening to your repetitive yawns to the point I hope you give up our phone conversation, while you’re simultaneously gargling coffee. Then you apologize for all that yawn gargling, and explain how your little one woke up like it was Christmas morning at 3:37 am (you always know the exact time) wanting to watch Despicable Me for the 111,892nd time.

I’m way too experienced in the art of the childless friend to say, “Well, why don’t you just make them go back to bed?” I know, you all shuddered at the thought I could have said that to you. Well, I didn’t - I know why. It’s because kids don’t just “go to bed” when they’re not tired. They’ll just go to their room, pull out all the clothes from their dresser, find lotion you didn’t know existed, dump it all over the floor and then rub their feet in it. 

My point is, I salute you.

Moms slip into a Pinterest abyss and (sometimes) arise victorious. 

In two years you’ll be throwing a birthday party, so right this second you’ll start a Pinterest board called “Cupcake decoration ideas I’ll never be able to replicate, but I’ll die trying, so help me, so help me God”.

Some of you will nail it. Hard. You will create cupcake masterpieces for your child’s birthday party that will solicit squeals of delight from children and adults alike. 

Some of you will experience a different kind of success - the kind where you throw your 8th batch of dry crumbly cupcakes covered in cracked fondant screaming, “Is it pronounced ‘fon-dent’ or ‘fon-daunt’?! Why won’t anyone tell me!?! Why do you hate me, Pinterest?! And is it pronounced Pin-ter-est or Pin-trest?! I'm DYING!!!”

Soon, you’ll accept your fate, grab your purse and cry your way to buy grocery store cupcakes that have badly spray painted rainbows on them.

Regardless of the success you’re able to achieve, the point is - you care deeply about your child’s experiences and want to create wonderful memories - no matter the cost, including the permanent eye twitch caused by last minute disastrous Pinterest projects. So, for your love and sacrifice for the little things - I salute you.

Just remember - if it all goes south - give yourself a break. Nobody remembers the cupcakes.

Moms endure sore nipples. Poor, poor tender nipples.

For new, breastfeeding mothers getting your nipples worked over with what feels like metal c-clamps, I salute you. That is all I have to say about that.

Moms fish out turds in bath water.

As evening approaches, many of you begin to draw a warm, luxurious bath for your children. Water toys are at the ready, along with all natural soap for fun, playful suds.

As you settle in to take mental note of these precious moments, you’ll notice little turds start to float to the top of the bath like horrendous brown buoys. If you have more than one child in the tub, total chaos will take over as they treat each turd like an explosive poop mine, abandoning the bath, screaming, creating a Tsunami of sudsy, poopy pee water that will flood your home. You’ll say things like, “Everybody calm down! It’s just poop! It’s just poop!!!” While you dive in barehanded to fish turds out of what was once, a glorious bath.

Did you ever think in your wildest dreams one day you’d be standing there, holding poop in your hands, yelling for everyone else to calm down? Of course not, none of us could ever see that coming.

But you’ll do it and the weirdest part is that it won’t seem weird at all. And for that, dear mothers, I salute you.

The immense joy of motherhood is palpable. But it’s hard, hard, hard (did I say hard?) work, too. Thank you all for paving the way for women like me as we begin to get mentally prepared for something you can’t possibly ever get mentally prepared for. Thanks to you, I anxiously await the unimaginable joy of raising another human being. Thanks to you, I now know that someday I will hold poop in my hand. 

And for all of that, I am eternally grateful.

Happy Mother’s Day you incredible women, you.