LaToya S smith

Last week, two friends came to me full of angst about how to do all the things we, as mothers, have to do—while still making time for ourselves.

My advice was, “Get some help! It’s 2019.”
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make money and be an amazing mom at the same time. It is nearly impossible to cook nightly, fold all the clothes, keep a clean home, and look the way you want to—even if you don’t work. It’s definitely less realistic if you’re trading eight hours a day for money.

Here are some things I wish I knew before I became a mom:

It’s okay to need (or want) help.

I remember folding about six loads of laundry one day and wanting to cry. I called my mom, and she urged me not to kill myself. She told me she had help when we were younger and that there was nothing wrong with me getting a helper to do some of the household chores. I was stubborn—and back then, asking for help made me feel weak. So, I did it alone.

My self-concept and self-esteem suffered greatly.
I wore Harry Potter T-shirts for Levi’s entire first year of life.
I wear wigs, and sometimes they were so worn out and raggedy, I’d try to remix them just to feel somewhat presentable.
My ability to care for my child became my crown, and the pride I once took in myself drifted away.
Pretty much all I was… was Levi’s mom.

Which leads me to my next point…

You are the expert on your child—but you are not the only one who can care for them.

As I type this, I feel a little hypocritical. It took a lot for me to get to this point. This juncture I’m at now is a big deal because it’s rooted in pain, trust, and revelation. I had to be forced into my current position, where I feel like—while I’m at work teaching, or home studying, or watching church—Levi is okay.

He will eat without me.
He will sleep without me.
He will laugh without me.
Even though I am his home.

If you’re a mom struggling with returning to work or simply trying to reclaim time for yourself—invest in yourself a little, and trust. Yes, there are people who do terrible things to children, but don’t let that fear trap you. Don’t let it turn you into someone you’re not, or drag the life out of you.

The kids are alright.
I pray for my son several times a day.
Trusting God has been my only hope for almost a year now.

You are important too. So is your partner.

One of my favorite people—mind you, I’ve never seen her in the flesh—is a woman named Kolbee. We started following each other on IG when I was a homemaker. She’s a homemaker too and recently had a baby.

She cooks her man’s dinner, keeps her home tidy, takes care of her kids—and gets her nails DONE.
Not just some wimpy little cuticle cleanup. I mean done. Long. Sparkly. Beautiful polish. That’s her thing.
She’s naturally beautiful and effervescent, so it doesn’t take much for her to shine—but sis still gets those nails done.

Typing this, I’m fighting the urge to go get mine done. (Maybe Tuesday. I’ll make her hold me to it.)

From what I can tell through our DMs and her stories, she and her man are in love.
I haven’t asked her how they manage it—maybe he’s just the right person—but I know two littles haven’t stopped them from kissing, watching football, or being present for each other.

For those of you in the struggle I was once in:
Many marriages fail after a baby comes into the equation.
If you can make it past 18 months without talk of divorce, you’re golden.
There are stats to support this.
(Though, personally, I think it should be more like 36 months, especially if one parent stays home.)

Get a job.

Levi was a preemie. Born at 25 weeks and one day.
We had already decided I would stay home for a year, but once he came almost four months early, that decision solidified.
One year turned into almost three—especially since he got the flu his first time at school (at 2½) and ended up in the hospital.

I cried about my situation at least once a week, usually when I was alone.
I felt like a failure. Like my life was at a standstill.
Even though my heart was full every time the pediatrician said he was exceeding expectations, there was a giant question mark next to what I was doing for myself.

I earned my Master’s degree online with a 4.0.
I self-published my children’s book.

But it wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t buy a candy bar without someone else’s money—and it made me incredibly sad.
Sadness is not a space I allow myself to live in for long.

I knew I needed to get up every day, dress myself, blast music, and make money for myself.
And I didn’t do it.
It cost me my relationship with me.

Did Levi need me? Absolutely.
For almost three years? Maybe not.

If I were to get pregnant again, I’d send the baby to a small, clean facility with loving people and cameras—and enjoy walking to food trucks after pumping breast milk in someone’s office.

Only you know what it takes to make you happy.

And your happiness is just as important as everyone else’s.