Motherhood is tough. Yes it’s a gift, it’s incredible, transcendental even but it’s also really bloody hard sometimes. This time last year I was struggling to keep my head above water. I had three children under four and every day felt like Groundhog Day. I didn’t feel I was doing anything particularly well as a mum, or a wife, or a friend. But sometimes it only takes a kind word from a stranger to make you realise that you are your own worst critic and more often than not, things aren’t as bad as they seem. This is what happened to me one day last spring.
We had ventured out for Sunday lunch en famille to our local farm shop cafe. In we trooped, a raggle taggle band of noisy disheveled children and exhausted parents. I was relieved to get a table tucked away in a corner where hopefully we wouldn’t disturb anyone. We settled down in our seats unpacking colouring books, felt tips, toy tractors, dinosaurs, bibs, sippy cups…. There was the usual fight about who would sit where but generally the mood was high.
Half an hour ticked by and there was still no sign of our food. The kids were getting hungry and I was starting to feel fractious. Whilst I was constantly shushing and attempting to gather in the slowly sprawling detritus spreading out from our general area, my husband was doing his best to entertain our seven month old youngest son in a desperate attempt to quell his squalks.
By now the table next to us had been occupied by another family made up of a set of stern looking grandparents, a young immaculately dressed couple who looked like they’d just walked off a Ralph Lauren shoot and their equally well turned out daughter, who looked similar in age to our aforementioned squalking youngest.
Whilst I gave in to the squalks and made a grab for one of a selection of hastily packed Ella’s Kitchen pouches, the Ralph Lauren mum produced a container of what looked like homemade, no doubt organic, vegetable puree – even her Tupperware was beautiful. I was suddenly consumed with shame and instead of praising her, I chose to judge her. It’s alright for her, I thought; if I only had one child I could produce perfectly cooked organic baby food, I could have beautiful Tupperware, I could come out for lunch with perfect make-up and perfectly blow dried hair. I judged her in her crisp white shirt without a hint of snot on it. I even judged her beautiful little girl for not smearing food all over her face like my son currently was.
I judged her because to me her perfectness highlighted what a crap job I felt I was doing. I judged her because I was jealous, because I felt she was doing a better job than me. Whilst I was sitting there in shapeless old clothes with hair that hadn’t been cut in almost a year and children who could have done with a good scrub, she was looking like she’d just stepped out of a salon and smelling of Jo Malone Lime Basil & Mandarin.
I felt justified in judging her because I felt she must have been judging us. I could feel the grandparents sneering at us. I saw them pull their belongings tightly to them as my feral bunch tried to squeeze exuberantly past. I felt their eyes disapprovingly on me as I was trying to juggle feeding my youngest, who was now flicking food in my face, reading to my two year old and trying to quieten my four year old who has no concept of volume control. I just wanted to go home.
Not long later they left and I could finally relax again. My husband took our two eldest with him to pay the bill while I began the clean up of our table. As I reached for yet another baby wipe to clean a smear of baked bean juice off the window, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was her, the Ralph Lauren mum. ‘I just wanted to tell you I think you’re amazing.’ Had I heard her right? ‘I’m finding it so hard with one child, I don’t think I even want any more’ she continued, ‘I don’t know how you do it with three, you make it look so easy. I’m in total awe’. My cheeks went hot and red, I felt tears pricking my eyes. Now I felt properly ashamed. While I had been judging her for making me feel like a crap mum, she had been admiring me. I was mortified. I was flattered. I was utterly flabbergasted that a fellow mum would heap such praise on a stranger.
Mums are so used to bashing each other, judging each other, compare and despair. Why do we so rarely tell each other that we are amazing? I was so stunned I don’t really remember what I said back to her. I probably just muttered a thank you and told her that I really wasn’t in the least bit amazing and actually I was really quite rubbish.
I’ve thought a lot about that mum in the year since. Not only did she make me feel good when I didn’t think I deserved to, she also taught me never to judge – that everyone is fighting their own battles and that appearances mean nothing. She taught me to always speak up. That if I see someone I think is doing a good job, I should say it. Because we’re all doing a good job, even on those Groungdog Days. So thank you, thank you Ralph Lauren mum. It is you who are truly amazing.
Postcards From My Kitchen Table 