I’m That Mom

This morning, my daughter walked around the house, in the aimless way they look for something except they expect you’ll pull it from behind your back and save them the trouble. She was supposed to wear her school shirt today. Literally, everyone else will be wearing theirs.

But, she went in the outfit she could find, because I’m that Mom. I know the other mom’s will judge me, maybe the teachers, too. It’s just that she knew two days ago, and she chose to Facetime with her friends yesterday instead of finding her shirt, so… she doesn’t have the shirt. Gotta learn the hard facts about responsible choices sometime. Might as well be today.

It was 39° outside, but she wore capris. Why? I’m that Mom. It matched the shirt (the wrong one), and she’d spent almost all of her time searching for the right shirt, so… she either caught the bus in capris or I drove her (after the argument) in jeans. Now, here is where you say I’m a shit mom, and maybe I am that mom. But, here’s the thing. I didn’t feel good. She was walking from the house to bus and bus to building… like 5 seconds of being cold. She won’t break.

I suppose I should add that this degree of devil-may-care-attitudeness comes from raising two girls already. I found the shirts, I fought for the jeans, I did everything because that’s what moms do. And, don’t get me wrong–they’re great grown up people. I just don’t think those details that got left to me, because they knew I’d fix everything, made their lives better. Or worse. It just exhausted me.

I can’t be everything to everybody, and I think there’s a lot of societal expectation to try to do that. Screw you, society. I’ve got writing to do, so I can show my daughter what comes of perseverance. I’m that mom.