The Motherhood Marathon Metaphor NEVER Gets Old

Listen up: motherhood is an epic, super-ultra-marathon team event, with set-backs, plateaus, and endless miles of desperate pain. Mothers that tell you otherwise are lying, taking excellent drugs, and also completely skewing the perceived bell curve. You don’t want to blow your wad right off the bat; remember you’re in this for the long haul! Make some good decisions, tempered with judgment and intuition, let go of the mommy guilt for sub-par decisions, and leave those other mothers alone for the choices that they make.


Here is what I want my kids to know so badly. And I want your kids to know. I might be the captain of this team, and I will put in some extra effort and make some extra sacrifices, but I count too. If I opt out of the sixteenth game of Monopoly so I can read a book, take a jog, take a nap, etc, it is the Captain’s prerogative. I will huggle and snuggle like crazy, until it is time for a break."The whole village” includes fathers, grandparents, uncles, and great babysitters. Everyone is better for it. It isn’t privilege or entitlement that allow us to accept help from others; it is just plain good sense.


Know also that not all relay members will excel at all legs of the race and that we cheer them on even when they are ragged and withered and hideous. The mothers that “failed” at breastfeeding (no such thing) will take up the lead in pre-school crafts, or carry the baton to victory as a Scout leader. The colicky babies will become champion toddlers. The science fair winner will become a video game addict. Most likely, the three-year-old will always suck! But you dole out high fives and keep everyone in that race, because there is always a hill – up or down – just around the bend that will change the game.


And when Captain pulls you from the race to ice your knees (or, possibly, though I would not know anything about this, to “Turn your fucking brain off and watch some educational “Super Why” so Mommy can have an uninterrupted shower, cup of French roast and a fucking peek at Facebook so she doesn’t feel so fucking isolated”), you should definitely concede. Just like the race itself, just like real life, it isn’t all triumph and awesomeness. It doesn’t have to be double rainbows all the way.


The jury is still out; my kids may, in fact, become serial killers. I don’t encourage you to shoot for mediocrity, but I encourage you to let go of the anguish, anxiety, and guilt over every minute decision. I am told that my kids are quick-witted, adaptable, and empathetic, with a minor penchant for potty mouth. I like this. I like to think that some of the mediocre – or less – experiences strengthen their independence, sense of community, and courage.


By all means, feed that baby some quinoa or smiley-face-shaped free range chicken and feel good about it. But know that if it is mechanically separated nugget day, you’ll make up for it with that extra round of Monopoly. And you’ll all be a-okay.