Allison Carr Mutha - Magazine

My daughter is two years old, which means she has recently discovered the power of the emphatic “No.” But more importantly, she has discovered my camera roll. The other day, while waiting for her oatmeal to cool, she grabbed my phone. I braced for the inevitable butt-dial to my editor or a rogue FaceTime to my ex-husband. Instead, she went quiet. She was scrolling through photos of herself.

But she was right, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t sad in that photo. She was furious. And I was exhausted. And the two feelings had occupied the same square inch of our kitchen floor. Mutha readers know this space. It’s the space where the pristine fantasy of motherhood—the one sold to us in the glossy magazines at the pediatrician’s office—goes to die. It is replaced by something rawer, funnier, and infinitely more true. allison carr mutha magazine

Before I had my daughter, I thought motherhood was a filter. I thought you applied it to your life and suddenly everything was softer, warmer, saturated with purpose. I would watch other women push strollers and think they were living inside a lifestyle blog. I didn’t see the crusted Cheerio stuck to the jogger’s wheel. I didn’t see the dark circles under the sunglasses. My daughter is two years old, which means