I'm a Lazy Mom and That's Okay


I am totally a lazy mom.

I’m a mom who prefers to hide away instead of face reality. I survive by riding on the coattails of all the other incredible women out there who research, rev up, unite and conquer. I’m sipping on my dunkin’ blend coffee admiring them from afar and using up all their fabulous research to form my own opinion.

In the world of crunchy moms, business moms, fit moms, whatever moms... me, I am a lazy mom.

That should be a thing right? Lammy. Lazy mommy. Lommy? Yep, I’m a Lommy.

When I found out I was pregnant I called up my BFF with all of my immediate concerns and worries, and she informed me I would worry for the rest of my life. So far she appears to be correct. My husband and I took a trip to the baby store to start our registry and I just stood there, bloated and achy, tears welling up. We fought, I cried and we just left, barely scanning anything. I was so confused and there were so many choices. My friend went back with me and I had her tell me everything to buy, brand, size, whatever. I wanted no part in the decision making process. I really just wanted to be told what to do by someone who had already done all the stressful work. She gave a lot of great advice. I didn’t use everything she used for her own son but I trusted her with almost every decision and it all worked out really well.

I like to think I’m not like this in every part of my life but if I’m being honest with myself, I am pretty lackadaisical with random bursts of passion. I’m all over the place, drifting from one thing to the next. I like to say my husband's mind works like a straight line, everything makes sense and has a logical place. Mine is like a roller coaster, full of dips and curves. Sometimes it goes backwards and upside down. The preset radio stations in my car are not set up numerically but in order of preference. My house looks like an explosion before it gets clean because I work on numerous projects simultaneously. I have a ton of half finished art work because my interest changes mid-project. I send amazon links of products to my husband who is happy to research because I will just buy the first product that is a pretty color.

I do have bursts of energy. I get so excited about something and right then I have to give it my all. I start googling, dreaming, digging down into this ambitious place. And it all fizzles out just as quickly as it began. Lommy strikes again.

I have all these ideas but they get lost. I call it the void. If I could picture my personal void it is not just an ominous black space of nothing. It’s full of floating scraps of notebook paper scribbled with ideas. Conversations ring out like music. It has walls, they are endless and papered with my thoughts, fading away like trailed off sentences. There is no ceiling, it’s all sky but it’s cloudy and the rain falls steadily until the scribbled words drip inky waterdrops off the scrap paper. The floor has fallen away but paintings, words, drifting colors and moments float, sometimes suspended in mid air. The void is a place I want to fall into, collect all the things that I forget and start to remember them again.

But I’m a Lommy so the void sits, never truly empty and never full either. I’m never in a hurry to do anything with all that resides there.

Moms are always hurrying. From the moment our children are born many of us are worrying and hurrying, wondering when our babies will walk, talk, learn and grow. We are tripping over ourselves trying to do the right thing when the right thing changes every other year.

My Lomminess is a part of my personality. I like to savor things. I feel the need to slow down, to daydream, to get lost in something more enjoyable than checking off a list of things. I like long, dig down deep conversations and even longer walks on the beach. I’m serious. Walking on an endless beach and never really getting anywhere seems ideal.

I was cruising along in my slow meander across life when reality decided to shake me up pretty hard. Sometimes life throws you something you don’t expect. Or you know, life always does this. It’s kind of life’s thing.

When my son was two he ate a cashew. I didn’t mean to give him a cashew. It was actually in one of those healthy bars only made with nuts and fruit. I was eating a lemon flavored one and his toddler hands grabbed it from me so quickly. I laughed and snapped a photo to share with my husband but within minutes I wasn’t laughing anymore. I was panicking because he was screaming and saying his mouth was burning. And then the hives started popping up and his face swelled. He was having an allergic reaction and after an ambulance ride, blood and scratch tests and a lot of benadryl doused scares, we discovered he’s allergic to tree nuts and most recently peanuts as well. He specifically is seriously allergic to cashews and pistachios. It felt like a cruel joke because pistachios were basically a food group in my previous life. We have no known food allergies in our family history. The whole thing was a strange and frightening world for us.

I want to do my best for my child, I want to do the right thing and make sure he is safe and content. But ask me to look at twenty different carseats and figure out the differences? I don’t have it in me. I pick the one others rated the best and I feel good. I’m sure this is not a very positive attribute but it’s the real me. When the allergies came to light I was right back in that baby store registry mentality, completely overwhelmed. How would I keep him safe? Who will just tell me what to do? His allergist recommended complete avoidance of all tree nuts and peanuts. The Lommy in me sighed a bit of relief. Don’t eat them? Keep the epi-pen handy. That’s easy! We can do that. It’s not really that easy. And the newly awakened, much more alert and concerned part of me continues to look at alternatives to help my child.

Lazy isn’t always bad.

Lazy is waking up slowly, it’s an extra cup of coffee. It’s a slice of cake with good conversation when you probably should be cleaning. It’s just eating the dough because cookies don’t bake themselves. It’s the word used to describe a soft stroke across a loved one's face. It’s snuggling in pajamas all day. It’s soft and it’s hazy and it’s unhurried.

I’m a Lommy at heart but I’ve learned parts of me have to wake up and be more aware.  I have to stand up and advocate for my child until he can do it for himself. I can’t always sit back and let him do his own thing at the park because I have to make sure he doesn’t eat something another kid offers. I have to read all the labels and read all the research and figure out how I can best help him. I have to remind everyone around us of his allergy because it’s something unseen and difficult to remember. I’ve learned no one can care more for your child than yourself. And I’ll admit, it kills me a little. I don’t want this responsibility. It’s scary and serious and I can’t run away from it. I may be a lazy mom but above anything else I’m a mom, even through the not so fun parts and the increasingly difficult parts. I get mad at myself for not being the kind of mom that changes the world, that takes her hardships and extreme challenges head on and strives to makes life better for others. Those women are truly amazing and awe-inspiring. I’m not one of them.

I’m a lazy mommy and I’m just trying to do my best to balance it all, step out of the void a bit and put my feet on solid ground.