You are enough.

Being a mom makes for a busy life, but being a single mom makes for a crazy busy life.  Working two jobs and taking care of a four year old while trying to maintain my sanity makes for long days and early mornings-but I wouldn't change it for the world.  When I became a mom, I made the decision to put another life before mine, and I was one hundred percent content with that.  There are mornings that we are running late (ok, every morning) and getting Parker ready takes so long that I'm stuck doing my makeup while sitting in rush hour traffic.  There are nights that laying with my baby for a few minutes turns into falling asleep next to him and I'm forced to stroll into work strutting yesterdays unwashed hairdo.  Every priority I used to have got pushed to the backburner; vanity being one of those.


These days, I'm used to the whole hot mess persona. Recently, however, I started a job at a new restaurant and let me tell you my coworkers are B E A U T I F U L.  The night before my first day, I had planned on getting up early to do my hair and makeup, make sure my clothes were ironed and folded neatly, and prepare for my first day.  I don't know what fantasy world I was living in, because realistically I woke up late, had to throw my hair in a sock bun, threw my work clothes in a plastic bag, and per usual did my makeup while stuck in traffic.  Having about a half hour between jobs, I sat in my car trying to fix my half melted off makeup and salvage my fifth grade dance recital bun.  I spent my whole first night at work comparing myself to my coworkers with their perfectly messy waves, flawless tan skin, movie star makeup, and perfectly proportioned bodies.  I left work completely discouraged and convinced I didn't fit in, wondering if they thought the exact same thing. 


The next day, I was better prepared for my shift.  I had taken the time to style my hair and threw on a little more makeup than I usually do- I felt confident this time.  I walked in and that confidence immediately went out the window.  Standing next to these girls I felt like a little twelve year old girl.  My eyebrows aren't shaped enough, my hair isn't dark enough, my skin isn't tan enough, the bags under my eyes are too dark...I kept a laundry list of things I needed to fix in my head as the day went on.  Again, I left work discouraged and feeling just downright inadequate.


When I got home, I just stood in front of a mirror and stared at myself for a few minutes.  It took years for me to learn to love my body, and after childbirth I am slowly learning how to love it again.  I stared at the debacle of curls hanging over my shoulders that I had tried to style while trying to keep a four year old from destroying the house.  I stared at the tired purple bags under my eyes that seem to appear no matter how much concealer I apply.  "I need to tan, I need to spent more time working out, I need to spend more time on my hair and makeup" I thought to myself.  Then it dawned on me; I can't even seem to find time to sleep these days, how on earth am I going to find time to do all this!  Sure I could spend two hours getting ready before work, or swing by the gym on my way home from work- Parker doesn't need to spend time with his mother right?  Suddenly, these insecurities seemed foolish.


I am a mom, not a supermodel.  I don't need to have perfect hair, perfect makeup, or a perfect body.  Who am I trying to impress? I already have someone who will love me unconditionally!  I may leave the house looking like Edward Scissorhands some days, but I would rather spend those extra few hours bonding with my child than with the mirror. I will never be perfect, I will never be the most beautiful girl in the room, and I will never be flawlessly put together, but I'm ok with that.  I'm ok with the bags under my eyes because it shows the long nights I work to provide for my child and I'm content with my constant mess of hair because it reflects my carefree crazy life that I have learned to love and take in stride. 


For a few moments, I lost myself in the ideals of being "enough," forgetting the compromise I made with my body four years ago.  I am not the same as these women, so why am I trying to compare myself to them?  Would you compare an apple to an orange?  Why am I looking for perfection if I've already found it?  My perfection stopped being about myself long ago. Perfection is being able to create a life inside of you. Perfection is having a place to go home to.  Perfection is providing for your family.  Perfection is kissing a beautiful little boy before bed every night. By that definition, I am enough.