Motherhood Terrifies Me

Ironically on the most celebrated day for mothers, I came to the conclusion that motherhood terrifies me. Besides inevitably screwing my kid up, I am terrified of one simple three syllable word: opinion. Everyone's got one, so why should I be so scared? I'll be the first to admit that I have a strong personality. I also hold strong opinions; some are rooted in fact and some are rooted in pure ignorance, but none the less they are my opinions. However, no matter how strong my opinion is, I am open-minded enough to realize that there is always room for my opinion to change and evolve. My strong personality partnered with another strong personality, and we created a diversely opinionated house. After almost five years of marriage I have learned to respect a different opinion, despite my deep desire to always be right. Eventually, I even have found myself voicing a blended opinion. Yet, I've noticed that respecting different opinions isn't the norm. Society has morphed into an intolerant culture. If it is not the popular mainstream belief, then it is ultimately wrong. Everyone's an expert, and rarely are people openminded ... just because an opinion seems openminded doesn't mean that it really is. While I welcome seasoned advice because I am honestly clueless when it comes to motherhood, I don't want to feel like my opinion isn't valued or that I am sitting in judgement.

In the words of our favorite wizard expelliarmus. I want to cast a little expelliarmus spell and disarm all the judgmental glares and pursed lips. I'm not going to be the perfect mom, and I've already established that I may not the most maternal person, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be a mom. My views of motherhood could be slightly warped because 90% of my views are based from TV and movies (prime example of my opinions being based on pure ignorance). My baby-daddy likes to joke with me and say that I'm the worst mother-to-be. I probably am ... just kidding (he is too) ... My dog is normal and I'm not smoking or drinking so I think I'm doing ok. Yet, according to society I'm not. I haven't expanded by personal library with "What to Expect" books. I'm ok with reading an app to educate myself about my growing baby. I'm not putting classical music on my belly so that my baby can become a musical genius. I'm not excited about breastfeeding (who is?). I think daycare is a completely normal place for my baby to hang out. I'm ok with a public school education. I cringe every time I step on the scale. I'm still trying to figure out how to tone my thighs while my tummy grows. It's safe to say that I don't fit the mom mold, but I never have fit the mold. I dance to a different tune and I'm tone deaf ... I am perfectly fine with that.

Life would be much easier if I also birthed an instruction manual, but I'm not (at least I don't think I am, but there's always a first). If my kid is screaming in the middle of the grocery store just pretend like we aren't there, don't make eye contact, and say a silent prayer as you turn and walk away. I will deal with the learning curve, just don't judge me while I do it. If you do, then shame on you and Expelliarmus!

Thanks Kristin Cavallari - I Should Have Had Mediocre Expectations

It pains me to verbally admit this, I despise my absolute favorite pastime. Over the past two years I have tried really hard not to go shopping (my ex-favorite pastime). I have even tried to quit cold turkey a couple of times. I'll be honest, it hasn't been that hard, the Retirement Community isn't a shopping mecca. Despite my best efforts and the lack of phenomenal shopping, I caved. I have had some birthday money that has just been burning a hole in pocket. Truthfully, I started spending it on other things, practical things, and not frivolously on myself, so I decided I needed to hurry and go shopping before it was all gone ... a very mature decision.

I walked through the polished glass double doors of my new semi-favorite department store filled with such hope. Just like famous pregnant women, I knew my-glowing-self would breeze through pregnancy with style and poise. (Technically I am still applying shimmer powder to capture that glowing look, but no one needs to know that.) I knew other pregnant women would look at me in their sweatpants and instantly be filled with envy because I looked like a pregnant superstar. Thankfully, I'm not huge yet. Although the people at the gym, cast their judgement, the rest of the world minus my present wardrobe is just beginning to notice the baby bump. So this could only be a positive experience. However, my bubble deflated into a thousand soup suds in the dressing room. (Side note: Every time I type the word bubble I am reminded of my first AOL screen name BubblesLB - I rocked that screen name until I revamped it into the sexy SunkistdaisE.)

Back to the matter at hand. Nothing fits. Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. I thought larger sizes would be the solution and then I could just have everything altered after my extra weight departed and I would be stuck with pregnant clothes that I would never wear again. Wrong. Larger sizes swallowed me, which wasn't flattering. Although the skinniest parts of my body, my wrists and ankles, were still being accentuated, I looked like an over-sized version of one of my beloved Olsen twins.  If only old people had babies, then there would be a maternity store in the Retirement Community. I left the clothing section empty handed, and today I changed into gym shorts at work ... shameful I know! I decided that I didn't want to be one of those women who just buys shoes because clothes don't fit them, so I spent my birthday money on makeup.