Sometimes it is really hard to not feel like you are falling seriously short of the mark. Let’s face it – the myth of supermom is not always a myth. There are women out there who can show up at a function with their wrinkle-free clothes, lipstick in place, homemade brownies, and impeccably dressed children. It is hard to not feel inadequate, inferior, and not very hip when in the presence of these wonderwomen. So to make up for our inadequacies, we lesser-superwomen tend to keep our mothering failures to ourselves.
Which reminds me of a less than super visit I once had with our pediatrician when I had an almost three year old and a one year old. I had decided to schedule both well-baby check-ups back to back because I knew several hip moms who had strongly suggested it as a great time saver. Great. Good idea.
I changed the boys’ clothes, put a fresh diaper on the baby and helped my older son go potty. We had been fairly successful with potty-training that week, so I decided to brave it and allow him to wear his “big boy underwear” to the clinic.
The nurse showed us into the office to wait. Just as the door was being pulled shut behind the retreating nurse, I noticed that my older son was peeing on the doctor’s office floor. We’re not talking a little tinkle here. Gushing. The puddle on the floor was spreading to massive proportions. Mortified, I changed his clothes as quickly as I could and then started mopping up our lake of pee. I furiously worked the spot with paper towels and then sat down to access the situation. You definitely could still see the spot. I looked at the door – there was no telltale shadow of the doctor approaching. I furiously mopped at the puddle some more. After three more times of watching the door, mopping the floor, and flying back into the chair to look nonchalant, the doctor walked in. He looked at the puddle. He looked at me. He graciously turned toward the kids and started the appointment. A massive temper-tantrum, torn table sheeting, and a sticky doorknob later, we not-so-quietly exited the building.
I have never felt so mortified and alone. I held my composure until I got to the car, and then I broke down. I must be the only mother who has destroyed an exam room and been dumb enough to leave her almost potty-trained child in big kid underwear, right?
Eventually I told a hip friend, you know – one of those wonderwomen, my gruesome tale. “Thank God,” she replied. “I thought I was the only one that had ever happened to.”
Well, those things do happen, even to the hippest, most pulled together moms around. So we’re not superwomen. Sharing our failures as well as our triumphs makes us more real, leaving room to be more genuine. Don’t feel like you always have to have it together. You would definitely not be the first mom to fear receiving a “please switch clinics as soon as possible” card in the mail.
