good mom.

I think I'm a good mom.

I always carry three water bottles. My car is usually overloaded with items my girls find impossible to leave home without. My kitchen floor has not been mopped in a couple of weeks. I still stay in their rooms until they fall asleep. My three-year-old is not potty trained. My six-year-old watches TV shows geared for tweens. I warm two cups of apple juice every morning while I pour my cup of coffee. I try to model that kindness & effort count more than being the best. I go overboard with preparations for birthday parties. I yell. I smile. I show my frustration. I hover. I encourage taking chances. I embrace every single part of what I do as a mom. As a person.

Most days I think I'm doing a pretty good job.

And then I read things, hear things, see things that make me second guess myself. I try my best to shake my head at the condescending articles spewed on social media. I try my best to not take others actions personally. I try my best focus on how I care for my family. But sometimes I just can't hush the nagging voice in the back of my head that makes me contemplate being a good mom, a good person.

I consider myself lucky. I am a stay-at-home mom. Occupation? Fill in the blank: "homemaker". Yup, that's me. Ever take one of those personality questionnaires where you have to prioritize your roles? Yeah, "mom" tops my list.

And I get put down for that.

Like it's bad or something. I don't get it. I don't know how many times I have heard, "I don't know how you can stay home." That single comment stings every. single. time. Maybe it's because I struggle with that exact thought every day. I know the misconceptions about what stay at home moms do. Immediately, my wall is up. Defense steps up to the plate. The need to justify. The need to feel like I measure up. The need to explain. The need to still fit in. To be enough. Why do I let one comment get under my skin? Why does it make me feel less than when I am trying so hard to be enough. Why do I care. I wish I didn't. But I do.

I smile anyway. Laugh off the question. Remark that we all do what we need to do for our family. And the conversation will turn to something I can no longer relate to.