I used to judge you.

Before I became a mom, I was judgmental of...moms. I didn't realize it then, but I realized it very soon after my daughter's birth by cesarean section (the daughter that I swore I would give birth to with no epidural, gently holding my husband's hand, with happy baby music playing softly in the background).

Yeah, her entrance into this world didn't exactly go that way. At all. I was still pregnant after her due date, and despite my protests, my doctor insisted (with good reasons that I didn't want to accept) that I needed to be induced. Off to the hospital we went, and though I knew that pitocin induced contractions might actually be worse than regular, normal contractions, I still had it figured out in my head. After all, I took that 5 hour long class on a Saturday morning that told me exactly how to get through labor without allowing a giant needle to be stuck in my back. I didn't sit in that uncomfortable chair on a weekend morning for nothing. 

Yep. I was induced Thursday night, and by Friday afternoon I was ready to slap the anesthesiologist when he told me I wasn't sitting in the right position for him to properly insert said gigantic needle into my back. That thing hurt. Seriously, it hurt. But oh my gosh, the relief that stupid needle brought was almost heavenly. 

I hadn't even given birth yet, and I had already broken my first self-imposed rule. 

I've been breaking all my rules ever since. 

I swore I would breastfeed my daughter for at least the first 6 months of her life. I'd hear of moms who failed at breastfeeding, or hear of moms who didn't even try to breastfeed, and vow to never be like them. Then, I put my newborn daughter to my breast (while I was pretty much high on morphine post c-section), and...ouch. That kind of hurt. That was okay though, because I read all the books and did all the research, and I knew it would hurt. 

Yeah. A couple of weeks into her life, I gave up on putting her to the breast and decided to pump instead. I grit my teeth and vowed to at least pump for six months, even though my attempts (every four hours, every day) barely produced two ounces. Finally, 4.5 months later, for the sake of my sanity, I quit. I packed up the pump with tears running down my cheeks, put it on the top shelf of the nursery closet, and finally accepted my long-term relationship with Enfamil.

I think that was the moment when I let myself off the hook. That was the moment when I realized all of my grand expectations of myself were just that -- grand expectations. I couldn't possibly live up to every single one of them. That was the moment I realized I was way too harsh in my previous judgment of other moms. We're all just trying to get through it, one day at a time.

Today, I found myself driving to Walmart with a McDonald's bag in the passenger seat. I ate a french fry, then handed my daughter one. I ate another fry, then handed her another. Then I gave her a chicken nugget. 

Did I mention I was wearing sweats? I went to Walmart, without a shower, wearing sweats, and feeding my kid fast food on the way. I don't think I can ever judge another mom, ever again. 

None of us are perfect. Lord knows, I never will be.

You're not perfect either, and that's totally okay.

But gosh, I love my kid. And I'm sure you love your kid too. 

That is what makes a good mom. 

P.S.  My kid only took two bites out of her nugget. What kid doesn't like nuggets?