Egos wherever I go.

Put it away, leave it behind, drop it, forget it, destroy it.

The word “ego” gets a worse rep than the ego itself. I’m convinced that people are more afraid of it rather than against it. Afraid in the way that people are of heights; because you felt you needed a weakness and this one seemed like a no-brainer.

Please let me, from my current not-so-full-of-myself vantage, tell you why you shouldn’t fear your own ego.

We’re never completely happy with our functional, healthy-ish body. It only takes a sharp look to shush our mind. We simply must comply. If you have a difference in opinion, you’re only doing it to rile everyone up. And failing that, we have an ego problem.

Yeah, no.

I’ve been going through some dark shit these past few months, but I love myself with the same intensity that I hate myself. That’s my prerogative. Having an ego lets me do that, and it also lets me stop the world from weighing in on the debate.

I put my foot in my mouth on a weekly basis, I make mistakes, I stumble and fall, I second-guess my every move. But I’m the boss of me. I decide when I get to celebrate, regret or repeat both my genius and my stupidity.

We’ve all been told this at some point in our lives: “For any relationship to work, you need to put your ego aside.”

If I put my ego aside to make a relationship work, then what am I putting into the relationship? By definition, I’ve just given up my sense of self-esteem. I’ve just given up the “I” in “I love you” or “I’ll respect you” or “I don’t want to”. That makes me nothing, and gives me nothing to put into my relationships.

Would you want to be with such a person?

Being with someone who respects themselves and knows what they stand for means that you don’t need to constantly validate their every move or think for them. You can both live and love as equals.

Having an ego even gives you the clarity to put someone else’s needs before your own.

Ergo, ego is good.

Ego

And no, Trump doesn’t have an ego problem, he has a mental problem. Kanye doesn’t have a giant ego, he is a giant arse.

I have occasional spurts of shaky ego. I don’t think that will ever go away completely, but that doesn’t “keep my ego in check,” it’s just a reminder that I still have a lot of learning and living to do.

Then there are instances when my ego takes a beating. I reckon that’s ok; much like tripping over my own foot. Or walking into a mirror. Shit happens. Contrary to smartarse opinions, it isn’t because I have my nose so high up in the air that I don’t see my own foot coming. Or mirror. Or beating.

Besides, your ego would only get a beating when you’re willing to go into unchartered territory. So, good on ya! Now dust yourself off and try again. You’re the only one who has to look yourself in the mirror when all is said and done. You’re the only one who you owe an explanation to. I say embrace your ego. Flaunt it, boost it, never stop working on it.

Yo’ mama needs a break.

He’s a skinny boy, with nary a growth spurt in sight. He’s crawled into our bed sometime between deep sleep and morning dreams, and has now taken over my space and sleep.

I carefully slip his warm weightless arm off mine and pick up my cold weightless phone. It doesn’t take a new-age embrace-your-child-or-ruin-them-forever mama to point out what was wrong there. So I toss my phone aside and pick up his little arm again.

Why stop there? Look at the little guy lying there, curled up beside me. All trusting and cushy. So I nudge closer and scoop him up in my arms. Oh his little frame so close against mine makes it feel like he is in my womb again. All mine, and mine alone.

He promptly kicks me in the groin and rolls away to a less needy pillow.

Little turd. Doesn’t he know I made him? And that I know several other mummy clichés?

  1. I wake up with bumps along my brow and cheekbones, because for a puny 2 year old, he head-butts like a pro-wrestler.
  1. Every muscle in my body aches from changing his clothes. It’s like trying to slip 4 pairs of wet tights on a wriggling octopus – blindfolded – with one hand tied behind my back.
  1. These days, when I gather him up after a fall to “take the pain away” with the age-old remedy of mama’s kisses, suddenly it’s: “Yucky. Too much kisses, mama. Don’t dooo that.” (While I thank M for passing on his ability to crack everyone up, I very proudly take credit for his witty comebacks. And oh how it has come back.)
  1. My body is a bean bag (put that in your song, John Mayer), and not just in reference to the shapelessness. When it comes to my lap, my son has called shotgun for eternity. Once seated on me, he proceeds to squish and squirm and jump and curl and stretch and wildly trash about as if possessed by the devil. His elbows, head and knees have a way of giving me a deep tissue massage from hell.
  1. When I try to reflect on my life and where I’m headed, the thoughts come unbidden to me. What’s for dinner, what’s in the pantry, what’s in the laundry, what should we do tomorrow to keep his mind active, all the ways I could be stifling him, all the ways I’m not nurturing him, everything I’ve not done for my husband that I used to and vice versa, all the free time I have that I don’t use…was that the baby crying?? I should go. I shouldn’t. Maybe just this once. One time can set a habit. Aaarrrgghhhhhhh.

Hence, this post.

Hence. This. Post.

There comes a time in every parent’s week. When you’ve been smacked, kicked and yelled at. When the naughty corner gives them enough time to come back with an apology, but doesn’t give you enough time to calm down. When all the cuteness in the world becomes a blur. And then, you lose it when they accidentally drop a pen.

You know you can’t be angry with anyone in particular, but you want to be. You know you’re not a victim, but every bit of you hurts. You’ve got a mostly calm and independent child, so saying you haven’t had any me-time just doesn’t feel right. Even when the most well-intentioned partner, parent or friend offers to help out, your brain cannot detach.

Which is why, even when the baby has been an angel, you still need an out. Except, you’re guilty to even say the words.

Come on mamas say it with me: I need time away from my child and that’s okay.

Even when my child has done nothing but sleep all day, I still need time away and that’s okay.

I’ve had a relaxing weekend and an easy week at work/ home, I still need time away and that’s okay.

I’ve spent all day at work, and come back to a whiney little sook. I momentarily wish I was still at work, and I hate myself for thinking that. That’s okay, too. On both counts.

They’re cute as hell and bottomless pits of love and adoration. The joy they give us is pure and overwhelming. And we still need time away and that’s okay.

In 2 days when it’s Mother’s Day and they make cutesy hand-drawn cards, but we secretly wish they gave us some solid baby-free, chore-free time – that’s okay, too.

Because if I’m not okay, they’re not okay.

mama

Happy Mother’s Day, ya’ll.

(Mostly to my mum, who’s had to endure us, and now our kids, without a minute’s break.)