Operation Superwoman

While trolling through Facebook updates this morning, I came across a friend's post. The mother of three mentioned something about Operation Superwoman being thwarted today and the fact that she's always the last to realize that no one actually expects her to do everything, even if she expects it of herself.

Ok, moms, let's all do ourselves a solid and ban the word "superwoman" from our vocabulary, shall we? And I suggest this for several reasons:

1. We don't have the ability to leap tall buildings.

2. We do not have magical wristbands.

3. Most of us would prefer not to have to run around all day in a strapless leotard and knee high boots

4. 80s hair and makeup is just so out.

Now, something seems to happen when a child enters a woman's daily existence. My children are biological, but I'm assuming women who adopt experience a similar phenomenon. When a child enters the picture, something springs forth in the woman's brain (it's akin to a rusty, tetanus-causing wire) and causes her to become mentally unstable in the following manner:

She feels the need to do everything. Not only does she feel the need to do everything, but she feels the need to do it the "right" way.

I've fallen prey to this mindset. Time and time again. For me, it happens most egregiously when we're having guests over to our house for an event. Birthday parties are the prime culprit. I spend all this time planning for the perfect party, I plan the menu, I cook, I clean, I shop, I look for the perfect present, buy the perfect new outfit for the birthday child. And when the day arrives, I'm so stressed out I've barely slept for 3 nights, I'm completely off task, my to do list is still a mile long, the kids are cranky, I snap at my husband and he goes off to clean the garage (where NO ONE from the party will be). By the time guests arrive, I'm a shaking glob of goo in desperate need of a drink.

And what do the party goers see?

They see good food, happy kids, a cake the birthday kid picked out and adores, a pile of presents and, in general, a good time.

We've had 5 children's birthday parties in my house and the same thing happens every time. And every time, as I collapse in a heap on the couch, after the last guest has left, my husband puts the kids to bed, comes downstairs, hands me a glass of wine, rubs my legs and tells me it was a great party and everyone had a great time. I agree with this statement wholeheartedly, because once the food was on the table and people started eating, my shoulders began to relax, my jaw unclenched and I realized my birthday kid was having fun. And as I lay on the couch, barely conscious, I promise myself that the next party will be better, that I will relax and go with the flow more, that I will ask for some more help, that I will provide specific instructions to people instead of expecting them to hear the commands in my head, that I won't stress.

It hasn't happened yet, but there's always next year. Until then, I'm going to try and keep "Operation Superwoman" a funny joke in my head.

I suggest you try and do the same.