A Mother's Manifesto by Sara Sadik

Author:Sara Sadik
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510771772
Publisher: Skyhorse
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Best Friend or Archenemy?

Regardless of where you’re from or what hair product you absolutely cannot live without, you are undeniably one massive messy hormone by now. Congrats. You can no longer hold your pee at all or elegantly wipe the sweat from your upper lip. And no one finds these facts the least bit cute or endearing. Not anymore. We’ve all been there where we’ve felt frazzled and short-tempered. Pregnant or not, we’ve all had to tap into our inner higher-self and light that lavender branch in chant. We have. Let’s not deny it. Are you nodding yet? Let’s leave the denial bit to the other mommy bloggers, influencers, and Instagrammers out there. I really do wanna try and keep things real. Like, really real. Relatably-real.

It’s in the last trimester that other pregnant mamas and new mamas who are way sleep deprived will categorize you as either their new best friend or archenemy. I’m not gonna lie, it’s harsh. It’s like that scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Veruca Salt is in the egg room with all the eggs and Willy Wonka tells her most things get weighed like this—as a good egg or a bad egg—when Veruca gets sent down the garbage chute. Pregnant mamas do this. Mamas definitely do this. Wait, aren’t most things measured like that, though?

I’ve been recently obsessed with observing how mamas behave when at the check-out counter in the hopes of befriending some before Gnocchi arrives. I’m like that hidden camera there to catch embarrassing and less-than-composed moments. I’ve actually caught myself mid eye-roll and deep sigh when the barely out-of-college cashier refuses to exchange a scarf covered in ducks that I was gifted last Christmas. Big shout out to my MIL—it’s always the thought that counts—because the item almost always really sucks. There are a few different types of mamas I’ve been weighing up as bad or good eggs. Not judging, just observing and weighing. Again, not judging.

There are the ones trying to exchange an item bought eons ago (like me) or use a voucher for another store (that had since shut down) which is always fun.

There’s also the one who darts off to grab a few last-minute items. She also unloads her entire purse on the carousel to find her wallet, leaving the queue gaping at the number of crumbs and chewed-candy-encrusted raisins rolling around with her iPhone, receipts, LEGOs, and My Little Ponies. Nowadays as a mama to three puzzle pieces, she’s the one I’d be grabbing a glass of red and a few hand rolls of sushi with on Tuesdays.

And then there are the equipped few, with a list, an agenda, and a pair of comfy shoes to walk quickly and get things done. Her children are not with her. She is judged. She is hated. She is no one I know. Nope, not even from high school or work. Not even from Facebook or LinkedIn as someone you might congratulate on their work anniversary. She is an

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