Pour the Wine: Inside the Mommy Group Chat

What better way to honor ourselves this Mother’s Day than by roasting our kiddos?

Yara Shahidi (l), August/Berlin Gross (m), and Tracee Ellis Ross in “black-ish” (ABC)

My brother and I are finalizing celebration plans for my mother’s 70th, so I’ve found myself looking through old childhood photos of us both. And it’s uncanny how much my almost three-year-old son looks and ACTS like my brother. To know my slightly older brother is to be fully entertained and loved. He is the life of the party. The endearing Energizer Bunny. The initiator of all things adventurous. The fierce protector. The informed and well-rounded leader. And profoundly obsessed with all things vehicles. And my son exhibits these same beautiful qualities. So, I am TIRED.

My body is tired. As my one mom friend 40+ texted recently in our spin-off group chat, “my body is done.” I knew exactly what she meant when I read those words. Body is done from being climbed on. Body is done from being headbutted. Body is done from being poked and prodded. Body is done from being purposefully crashed into. Body is done from having to pick up a thirty-plus-pound toddler because he asks nicely, even though he can walk and run like a future Olympic champion. He’s pretty fast.

My mom friend’s text, and just being knee-deep in toddlerdom, has inspired a lot of reflection about the things that often go unsaid for fear of judgment. Motherhood is f*cking hard. Sure, it’s worth every bruise, vomit stain, back pain, pink eye, and gray hair, but it’s still very much one of the most difficult jobs in the universe. And the unsaid or discretely spoken should be said… loudly. So here’s an inside look of what goes down in the (toddler) mommy group chats from my own experiences and the shared experiences of my mom friends:

The Bathroom Mate: I’ve suddenly come to expect a bathroom companion every time I have to poop (or tinkle, or glance in the mirror, or blow my nose, etc.). I welcome his presence at this point. He sits down on his potty, and engages me in a seemingly aimless conversation about race cars and volcanoes, while I ponder if there’s something wrong with his sense of smell? Why does he want to be in here with me? And even though I find it odd for someone to want to be in such close proximity to someone else while they have a bowel movement, it does make sense because I’ve had nothing but close proximity to all of his poops. It is all he knows. I’ve tried locking the door, but he just purrs by the door like a needy kitten. Even if I say “I’ll be out in a minute”, he’ll come in anyway. So everytime I try to have a brief moment of deserved privacy, I leave the bathroom door cracked, expecting his entry. I do still wonder about his sense of smell, or my health. One of them is off.

The attachment though, does not stop in the bathroom, it is everywhere I go. I cannot sneeze or poop without my son present for the action.