"Don't take up a man's time talking about the smartness of you children; he wants to talk to you about the smartness of his children."

I wanted to be the mom that gave 110% on everything—but that left nothing for *me*



When Elliot was born, I thought being a mom meant giving 110% on every single task. I kept floors spotless months before he could crawl. I ate up parenting podcasts and books at every turn. I was all too happy to give my husband pointers (commands?) when his swaddling technique differed from my own. Mother knows best, after all.

I thought that the more time I spent learning about parenting, the better I was at it.

When Elliot napped, I rarely did the same. There was always more to be done! And if I didn't get it all done, I wasn't a good enough mom. Or so I told myself.

That's the constant struggle with perfectionists. We hear “good" and we think “could be better." There is no “good enough" in the perfectionist's compendium.

The lack of sleep didn't help. It stirred my anxiety around the clock. Even when Elliot started sleeping through the night, I didn't. I would wake up around 4 am to pump under moonlight, worried my milk supply would drop.

When Elliot started eating solids, I made everything by hand. I wanted to maximize the “flavor window" and was determined to fill it with apples and peaches and lentils and squash. I took pride in steaming and pureeing organic kale. He loved...


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