• J Mess

LET'S GET REAL

Mommying isn’t always pretty no matter what filter you use.


My beautiful friend from work recently had a baby. She’s gorgeous. Amazing, voluminous, flowing blonde hair. Always perfect. We teased her about how it would probably never look like that again after the baby was born and she insisted it would. Well, I wish her the best of luck! Personally I haven’t seen my makeup bag in months. Most days I even forget to put on deodorant. The weirdest pregnancy side effect that happened to me was that my eyelashes no longer curl. At first

I was devastated. I mean, DEVASTATED. This is the worst thing that could have happened! My eyelash curler was my favorite makeup tool!

If I was going to a deserted island and could only take one thing from my makeup bag, that would be it. I’ll never be able to look up and feel my lashes hit my upper eyelids again.

First world problems. Woe is me. This is truly awful. What am I going to do? Oh that’s right, I don’t have time for any of that anymore so who cares.


The one time I “put my face on” to attend a wedding, my son did not recognize me.

The thing I’ve learned about being a mom is that you have to let go of the illusion of being perfect. It’s not attainable. It’s not possible. It won’t happen. Instead it will be messy. Exhausting. Ugly. Terrifying. It will sometimes be all wrong. And it will be amazing. That’s why I started this blog. Because I needed to embrace the mess, learn how to let it go, and laugh about it. Not to engender sympathy because my life is so hectic and I have so many mommy problems. (I'm sure you all feel just terrible about my eyelashes.) Instead I wanted to create a safe, authentic space where Moms can admit this shit ain’t easy and learn from my many, many mistakes. And also everyone else can laugh with me... or at me.


I struggled with this when starting the blog Instagram account (which you should all follow, @mommysamess_jm). Instagram photos are one tiny moment of life. If I post a photo of my son at the beach, that’s all you see. What you don’t see is all of the planning and packing it took to get us there. All of the lists. All of the stuff to schlep. All of the stuff I mistakenly forgot at home. All of the crying, mostly mine. And my kid eating sand. Instagram is a place where some people post incredible, curated, photoshopped, perfect photos. The perfect angle. The perfect outfit. The perfect lighting. The perfect location. If you want to be an Instagram “influencer,” and have tens of thousands of devoted followers and a little blue check mark, people need to admire your life. Although recently our feed is flooded with amazing far-away locales from Stacie’s epic world travels, my everyday life is decidedly less swoon-worthy.


You don’t want my outfit. It’s not from a designer. It’s from yesterday.

So even though I still try to get the perfect shots, most likely instead I will post the inside of my laundry basket. A pile of dirty bottles in the sink. Crying baby face. Crying mom face. Because that is reality. That is the real me. My life is the anti-Instagram. Dirty bun. No makeup. Straight lashes. That’s the mom my son recognizes, so that’s the mom I want to be…

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