Pants on Fire

About 14 times a week, someone asks me, "So, is Ella sleeping through the night yet?"

And about 14 times a week, I want to haul off and punch a perfectly nice stranger square in the face.

Because, as you all are well aware, the answer is "No."

No way. Not on her life.

On the barometer that all babies are measured against, my baby is failing miserably.

Frankly, though, I'm not surprised.

She comes from a long line of poor sleepers. And, well, I'm from the school of thought that most babies who are breast-fed on demand, not left to cry-it-out, and co-sleep with their parents rarely do sleep through the night before the age of 1. (Why do I practice attachment parenting again?)

But still, even if this situation is of our own making, it doesn't make it any easier.

It doesn't necessarily soften the blow every time another mother says, "Oh, well, that's too bad. She'll get it eventually. Little Timmy here's been doing 12 hour stretches since he was eight weeks old!"

It takes every ounce of my inner strength not to slap that woman clear across the face when I hear that.

Because I get it. I get that she rolled the dice and won in the sleep department. And that I rolled the dice and lost. And I get that she's proud of Little Timmy.

I also get that the ungodly amount of sleep I haven't gotten is starting to, possibly, give me some rage issues.

But that rationale doesn't make it any easier.

Non-sleeping babies are hard.

So, in a moment of desperation, in the middle of the sleeping crisis I mentioned yesterday brought about Ella teething, I cried out for help.

I sought refuge in a secret hippie mama group I belong to on Facebook. (I know; I know. That sounds lame. But a girl's gotta find support somewhere.)

Anyway, I basically wrote a message along the lines of, "Tell me that, before she goes off to college, my girl will sleep through the night. Tell me that some day, it will happen. Tell me that there's hope! Tell me there is sleep out there for me! Tell me that, if not, there's some kind of homeopathic cure for this because this mama is losing her mind over here!"

Immediately, I got back plenty of reassuring comments from sympathetic moms who had been where I'd been and found the light at the end of the tunnel. And then, one mom chimed in and brought up something I'd never even thought of.

"Don't get too caught up in comparing your babe to other babies. We all hear that all these babies are sleeping through the night so early on. But what we're forgetting is that, a lot of the times, people are lying about that. For some reason, a lot of people will tell you their babies sleep 12 hours at night when they really don't."

Well, huh.

You know, perhaps she had a point.

Because, yeah, sure, there are babies who do sleep blissfully in their cribs, 12 hours at a time, without the slightest bit of nudging from their parents.

But there's also a lot of us strolling around like the walking dead, sucking down whatever bits of energy we can find in an effort to combat the day on 90 minutes of sleep. All because our 18-pound bundle of joy decided sleep was for sissies.

And just like that, it hit me.

Oh my gosh! She is right! I thought.

People lie.

Understandably, too.

People lie because when 14 perfect strangers ask them, "So, is she sleeping through the night?" they don't want to say, "No. She's not. Now go about your business before I haul off and punch you in the face!"

It's just easier to smile sweetly and say "Oh, yes."

That way, you avoid the barrage of questions that will inevitably follow; about what you're feeding them, and when you're bathing them, and how, exactly, you're ruining them for life by picking them up when they are screaming "MAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" at the top of their lungs.

People lie.

It's genius really. So genius I wonder why I didn't think of it.

Why don't I just say, "Oh, she is. She is sleeping through the night!" and go about my day?

Brilliant plan, I thought.

Then one look in the mirror, and my hope of carrying off that fib was all but lost.

Because I've got circles under my eyes. Eyebrows that haven't been tweeze-d in a month. Dry skin on my chin. Hair frizzing around my brow.

That's my reality.

Add in a 10-year-old sweat-shirt, a pony-tail, and a pair of jeans that are too big on me, and that's what I look like today.

I'm a hot mess.

I'm a mom.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are lots of other moms walking around who are way more hot than messy.

In fact, every day, I see a mom pushing a stroller with a well-dressed baby in it, while she schlepps a designer diaper bag over her shoulder and steps about in perfect, expensive, shiny flats and trouser jeans.

I get that other moms have it together. I really do.

That's there reality, right?

Or is it?

Because now, now that I've been exposed to the idea that moms, in order to save face, actually lie about their lives, I'm beginning to wonder.

Any mom that looks that good, with a baby that age? Can she be trusted?

Especially when she says her house is clean. And that her dog is walked. All while she's pinning meals on Pinterest that look like a four-star chef prepared them.

Something smells fishy. (And I'm not talking me and the fact I haven't showered in about two days.)

That truth is, that mother may in fact be lying.

She may be standing there in her name-brand pants and telling a fib with a smile on her face.

"I made fudge individually carved into the shape of a sparrows for the baby shower" really means, "I bought these online."

Or "You have to try this amazing bisque I made for dinner last night. It's great served with a fillet of sole" really means, "I ordered take-out."

Or "I never have laundry sitting around. It just drives me bonkers" means, "I hire a maid."

Or "Little Tina here basically just potty-trained herself" means, "I have a nanny."

Not every woman, sure. But some of them? Maybe even a lot of them?

They're lying. They have to be.

I see it all the time. Bloggers with gorgeous homes; clean, well-dressed children, and moms who manage to help their kids finger-paint while wearing spot-less white organza.

It's not possible.

I see it on the street, too.

Mothers at the grocery store, holding this month's issue of Gourmet magazine in one hand while showing Mandarin flash-cards to their 3-month-old twins.

It's not possible.

I see it on the faces of mothers I know; mothers who watch the perfectly coiffed woman go by knowing she runs her own successful business, with a happy husband at home, while also growing all her own organic produce and home-schooling their three young children. I see their faces fall, comparing themselves to her.

And I realize, it's not possible.

It can't be.

Because here I sit, the typical American mom, blogging on my couch at 1o p.m at night, looking over my computer screen at the air-conditioning vent that is positively covered in dust and dog hair.

I noticed it last week; I'd wager it's been a good month since I touched it last. But is it dusted? No. Will I dust it tonight? Heck no.

Will I dust it tomorrow? Maybe. If there's time. Which there isn't because I have a part-time job, a blog, a husband, too much laundry to count, and a baby who - oh, that's right! - doesn't sleep through the night. (Or ever.)

There are still two dirty pans soaking in my sink. I have two loads of towels and some of Ella's clothes I haven't put away but that have been clean and folded since Saturday. My kitchen table is littered with things I have to mail, things I have to return, a fruit bowl with a few questionable apples in it that I need to replace, and an over-flowing diaper bag.

I'd post pictures to prove it to you, but I can't find my camera. Oh, and my cell phone is dead.

I haven't worn make-up since last week.

I burned dinner tonight.

That? That is my reality.

And I refuse to believe I'm in the minority here.

In fact, I think most moms are like me.

Which leads me to then believe that, those moms who seem to have the perfect house and the perfect car and the perfect wardrobe and the perfect hair and the perfect husband and the perfect job and the perfect kids - those moms who, in short, have the perfect life?

I don't believe them. Not even for a second.

Maybe, if you have a nanny, a house-keeper, and a cook.

But for the average American mom, that's not possible.

I'm calling their bluff. Liar, liar, pants on fire and all that.

That is not reality.

Even if their baby does sleep through the night.

***

Here's the thing: I don't blame any mother for fibbing. I don't blame them for shoving their clutter into closets when company comes over or bragging about a meal they made, knowing full well they're ordering Chinese take-out later that night.

No one wants to look like a sloppy, unprofessional fool in front of other women.

If anything, we all want to save face in front of the mommy tribe. In some circles, they eat their own. Plus, the stereotype of "catty women" isn't always so off-base.

The fact of the matter is, in our society, where we are expected to work, mother, look great, and "keep" a house that is decorated to the nines, it's hard not to lie. At least a little.

With unattainable expectations, we have to level the playing field somehow. And we do it by saving face and pushing all the unfolded laundry under the bed. Or we lie about the "home-made" cookies we donated to the church bake sale.

It's not meant to be hurtful. If asked, I bet a lot of us don't even realize we're really doing it.

Until you realize it's almost impossible not to do.

***

Now, before the hate mail starts pouring in, accusing me of calling everyone "liars," let me just say this: I am fully aware that there are mothers who do have impeccable homes, beautiful wardrobes, clear skin, and a baby that sleeps through the night. (If that is you, please move in with me and teach me your ways, oh wise sage.)

The point is, I realize not everyone is lying.

But some of us? We're fibbing a bit. Or we're at least committing the sin of omission.

I have. (Let's just say you should never open the closets in my house. Ever.)

I'll admit, I don't like it. A huge part of me wishes we didn't ever do it, in fact. I think it sets a bad standard for other mamas.

It makes them feel inadequate for resorting to store-bought brownies or throwing a birthday party for their toddler filled with ready-made decorations.

It makes them feel like losers if their roots are showing or their bag is a knock-off.

It makes them feel like failures.

And they aren't. Not by a long shot.

It's part of the reason I refuse to lie about the fact that my baby doesn't sleep well.

I am not a bad mom because my hair is a little greasy. I am not a bad mom because my AC grates are dusty. I'm not a bad mom because there are dirty dishes in my sink. And I am not a bad mom because I can't find my camera.

I'm just a mom. Doing her best. Trying to ignore people who tell me I'm "ruining" my child by not sleep-training her.

And trying to be as real as she can be so that other moms, who have under-eye circles, hairy brows, and exhaustion-induced aggression, don't feel alone in this dog-eat-dog world.

***

Do you have it all together? Do you pretend to? Or do you let it all hang out - messy house, sleepless nights, all of it? Share below!

Happy Tuesday, everyone!