Another fight. Another meltdown. Another mom collapses in a chair wondering why her children aren’t like the ones she sees at her friends’ houses. This was yet another day in my house.
To add, I had scrubbed unmentionable gunk (yet again) from every crevice in my children’s bedroom and threw all their bedding in the wash. As my little ones finally stopped screaming and mellowed to sniffling, I wrestled my phone from my back pocket and slumped deeper in the chair to scroll and check notifications.
Another stylish and poised picture of a baby who’s another month older (the kinds of pictures I never had time or memory to take). Another child reciting half of the beatitudes—something I’ve felt convicted to do for years myself yet still haven’t, let alone teach them to my son. Another mom running a full-time business while homeschooling her three children, while I struggle to keep up with a few freelance jobs and a pre-k curriculum. Another homestead that only feeds their children homemade yogurt with the milk their kids just got from the family cow, meanwhile, I still buy store-bought bread.
I didn’t have to see the number of likes on their creamy, styled photographs—after reading their convicting captions about loving motherhood, serving our families, or raising our children in the way in which they should go, I only had to look straight into the comment section where followers exclaimed, “AMEN!” or “Preach!” often with fire emojis or praise hands.
I gazed down at my three little ones finally settling into playing with their matchbox cars. An uneasiness settled over me, a restlessness. I scrolled through my photos—past many blurry and dark pictures—until I settled on one with two of my boys holding a book together. Then I crafted a caption about why our children need good books, a skill I pride myself in, and posted it on Instagram.
Even when a few likes rolled in, that unsettled feeling ate at me.
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