Happy Mother’s Day to the Moms Who Are Not Enjoying This Season

You know those moms who seem to float through Target with a sleeping baby strapped to their chest, smiling softly while their toddler politely asks for organic applesauce, and their third grader says something like, “Mother, may I help you compare unit prices?”

Meanwhile their hair is perfectly styled, nobody is crying, and somehow both of the baby’s socks are still on.

I have never met one in real life.

What I have met is the version of motherhood where your kid throws a tantrum in the frozen food aisle because you refused to buy the eight-gallon tub of strawberry ice cream shaped like a unicorn castle. The baby is drooling directly into your shirt. Your dishwasher broke yesterday. Your car is making a noise that sounds expensive. And just when you’re trying to survive checkout without anyone licking the credit card machine, a sweet older woman behind you smiles warmly and says:

“Treasure these moments, mama. They go by so fast.”

Susan.

Respectfully, no.

I know people mean well when they say things like that, but there are some moments I do not wish to treasure. No mom wants to frame this moment and revisit it fondly someday. We want to get everyone home alive, put on an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and lay silently on our couch like a Victorian woman recovering from influenza.

Can we just say it out loud?

Some seasons of motherhood are not fun.

Not bad. Not meaningless. Not lacking love.

Just…not fun.

You can deeply love your children and still not enjoy catching vomit in your bare hands at 2 a.m.

You can be grateful for your family and still not enjoy explaining fifth-grade math only to have your child scream, “THAT’S NOT HOW WE DO IT ANYMORE.”

You can adore your teenager and still wonder if their attitude is being powered by hormones or demonic possession.

Some women love the baby stage. Some would rather wrestle a raccoon in a Chili’s parking lot.

Some moms thrive with toddlers. Others spend those years whispering, “We don’t bite people,” like exhausted customer service representatives.

Some women love the teen years. Those women are stronger than our troops.

And if this current season is draining the life out of you a little? You are not failing motherhood. You are simply in one of the harder chapters.

There were seasons raising four kids when I felt like my entire life was just rotating between laundry, carpool lines, urgent care visits, and trying to locate someone’s goggles minutes before swim practice.

None of that felt magical.

Waiting for X-ray results after your kid flies off a trampoline? Not magical.

Helping with science fair projects that somehow become parental hostage situations? Not magical.

Teaching teenagers to drive while calmly pretending you aren’t actively seeing your life flash before your eyes? Absolutely not magical.

And don’t even get me started on prom dresses now. Some of them look less like formalwear and more like two sequined napkins attached with optimism.

But here’s what I’ve learned as an older mom:

The hard parts soften over time.

Not because they weren’t hard. They absolutely were. But somehow the sharp edges blur.

When my third child was born, I went into labor fast and furious. Let me be clear: I do not handle pain well. At all. Pain plus nausea is basically my personal apocalypse.

By the time we got to the hospital, I grabbed the nurse by the scrubs and informed her that I needed pain medication immediately — legal, illegal, I was no longer asking follow-up questions.

“I know some women say they can’t handle it and then they do,” I told her dramatically. “But I am NOT one of those women.”

Meanwhile, she was calm as a yoga instructor in a Yankee Candle store.

There is a photo from that day where I look absolutely feral. Red face. Wet hair. Tears everywhere. The nurse is smiling and giving a thumbs-up beside me like we’re posing for a community fun run.

At the time, there was nothing about that experience I wanted to treasure.

But now? Years later? I barely remember the pain. What I remember is the joy of meeting my daughter.

That’s the strange mercy built into motherhood.

Time doesn’t erase the hard seasons, but it gently rearranges them. The misery that once felt enormous slowly shrinks beside the love.

So if this Mother’s Day finds you exhausted instead of overflowing with gratitude, you are not alone.

If your current parenting strategy is mostly counting down to bedtime, that’s okay.

If you love your kids but don’t particularly love this season, that’s okay too.

Your baby will eventually sleep.

Your toddler will eventually stop licking random objects in public.

Your teenager’s frontal lobe will eventually develop.

And one day, you will have space again to think, rest, read, laugh, and remember you are a person separate from everyone calling your name while you are in the bathroom.

You are a good mom, even on the days you would absolutely not describe as “treasured.”

Happy Mother’s Day.