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For the love of God, knock your shit off.

This culture we have created of the frazzled, forgotten, war-torn-underwear havin’, haven’t-relaxed-in-God-knows-how-long mom has got to go. We stop buying new bras so we can afford the latest (cough bullshit) toy for our kids. We stop taking baths because we rather stay up until midnight cleaning around the boats and ducks that permanently reside there. We don’t go for walks by ourselves anymore because our kids want to go and if we left them behind, we’re selfish and they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.
They’ll never forgive us and most likely need intensive therapy for at least five years. Therapy we as parents will inevitably foot the bill for.

Who’s we?

Before Scarlett was here, I made the very sound decision to not forget who I was before I was a mother. Sure, as mothers we naturally make sacrifices. Sacrifices that I want to make for my daughter without sacrificing my identity or happiness.


I was a wife before she was here. I AM a wife and that’s why she even IS here. I made it my mission, even when it’s challenging, to put my marriage above my motherhood.

Before any of this I was a person.
Sarah Ava Steinhall before I took my husband’s name. A music lover, a book lover, a food lover, a bath lover, an outdoors lover.
An alone time lover.

Going on hikes by myself doesn’t make me less of a mother.
Taking a bath by myself in actual hot water, without rubber ducks and foam letters sticking to me, doesn’t mean I don’t love Scarlett.

Replacing my ripped underwear from high school doesn’t mean I’m selfish.

It makes me a human being.
It makes me a 29 year old woman that enjoys being a woman. The end.

Being a mother has indefinitely changed me but not so much that I feel ashamed of my identity. Too many women and mothers I know bear so much guilt on their hearts for putting themselves first. How are we supposed to love our partners, children and lives if were side-eye’d when we love ourselves?

Imagine yourself pre-children. What happened if you didn’t get to accomplish/do/see/have the things you wanted to? You most likely didn’t love that feeling and made sure you didn’t have to feel it again anytime soon. You liked your coffee hot, you enjoyed going to the gym, it felt good to read a book you’ve been after. What the fuck happens to us as women that makes us feel gross when we want that for ourselves post-children?
We stop making time for ourselves, our spouses, our friends and our lives.

Your new norm is autopilot.
You wake up at 7 to a four year old jumping on your head, yesterday’s yoga pants, lukewarm coffee, a longing heart, a distracted head and a general discomfort.
And that’s your normal, and it’s accepted, sometimes even expected.

Who says?

Let your hair down without your heart hurting. Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve to put a smile on our own face. If you need to put the kids to bed a half hour early so you can take a bath? Do it. Get a babysitter so you can remember what it feels like to wear jeans and perfume? Please do. You want to drink hot coffee but don’t have time? See previous post.
Take the girls trip. Go on an adults only vacation with your partner. Have a few cocktails at the concert you’ve been dying to go to (and then quickly regret said cocktails at 7 am the next morning when you put your mom pants on).

Nurture your souls, mommas.
Being Scarlett’s mom fills me up so much but it’s easy to let my cup get beyond emptied by days end. Take care of you first so there’s a more quality version of you to give.