Maverick has been rocking preschool.

He ran in on the first day, hugged the teacher and had to be reminded—ahem—to come back and give his mother a hug thankyouverymuch. Just because I wanted to have some time to myself does not mean that I don’t miss the little troublemaker, and my sidekick for the last eleven months, when he’s gone.

When I was thinking about preschool today, I found myself wishing that there had been premom. Something that would let us all in on the secret of what motherhood truly is like.

Then I shook my head for a second, because I don’t honestly think that anything can prepare you for parenthood or what it’s like to be a parent.

For the sake of writing today, and getting all of my thoughts together in one place, I’m going to roll with my thoughts and see where they take me. In all honesty, they could be coming from a place of overload, missing friends and wishing for hugs and socialization. Wanting to take an airplane trip and have someone else to watch my kids for a few hours so that my husband and I can have a date night.

What is that even anymore?

But premom … what would that look like?

Someone to tell you that while you desperately need a break from the whining, tantrums and bodily fluids that are not your own, when you get that break, you might miss the little buggers.

Or maybe practice would help? Throw yourself into a candy store with a tired, hungry three-year-old and get out of there alive and with no candy!

I don’t know that I’d wish that situation on my worst enemy.

The other day, for whatever reason, Maverick wanted to go downstairs, where Brad was working. I carried him upstairs to keep him from interrupting Brad’s phone call, and then sat on the floor at the top of the stairs, repeating over and over that we couldn’t go downstairs at the moment.

I sat there for a while. My bum got cold, I was tired of repeating myself and scared that the flailing child in front of me was going to hit his head on something or, worse, throw himself over me down the stairs. There was never any preparation for the situation and I found myself questioning whether I was doing the right thing.

This is where premium comes in. And I think it would be a course that teaches moms to trust their instincts. Reassure moms that we all do what’s best for our children, and that means that we’re doing it right. Sometimes we break and yell and don’t act nicely (especially before coffee), but we’re teaching our children that we’re human, too. That we can do hard things.

And perfection is not only unachievable, it’s boring.

I guess at the very least, premom would be a friend, whose truth and honesty about this whole momming thing would put us at ease, comfortable in our daily decisions. And I hope everyone has that friend to support them—WARN THEM—just kidding. Babies don’t come with warning labels. Supportive friends are all we have until preschool for moms is invented. 😉

Now I’m off to throw Maverick in front of the iPad so I can have a chat with a friend … cause in Covid times, that’s all we can really do sometimes.

Postmom,

Anya

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