Motherhood should grade on a curve.

I suppose it’s natural, if neurotic, as a mother, to watch other mothers and do a quick mental assessment of how you hold up. It’s born of insecurity, that tendency, and at least for me was a way to make sure that, while I wasn’t doing everything perfectly, at least I wasn’t the mom who forgot her kid’s coat in sub-60 temps. Ok, fine, I was her once, but in my defense, it was way colder at the pumpkin patch than it was when we left the house and if you stayed in direct sunlight it was almost possible not to shiver. And, if I'm going to be confessional: I’m the one who forgot to replace his summer backup clothes at daycare with winter ones, who perpetually neglected to bring snacks along on day trips to the zoo, who quite frequently imposed the five-second rule of food on the floor. Sometimes I forgot to replenish his daytime diaper stash, and he’d come home in a borrowed Disney Princess Huggie. Once, when he was just sitting up, he toppled off my bed because I was too busy making a video of him sitting up on my bed to catch him. I know I’ve mentioned on here the baby powder incident. A friend of mine recently told me about her daughter’s similar adventures with an economy-size tub of Vaseline that she got her hands on after climbing out of her crib at a shockingly early age. Once out and thoroughly greased up, baby decided to try getting back into the crib, which proved impossible because she was too slippery. My friend felt guilty for not knowing her kid was capable of such mayhem; I felt stupid for not closing the baby powder. It’s a comedy of errors, this parenthood thing, and I finally understand that even the ones who make it look effortless (I’m lookin’ at YOU, Cathy) struggle sometimes. Cuz ain’t none of us perfect.

Hopefully the second time around I’ll get less caught up in those involuntary comparisons. I will try, as they used to remind us during tests in school, to keep my eyes on my own work. Maybe this time I’ll be the mom with one of those magically bottomless diaper bags that can produce a wet wipe in five seconds flat, or crayons and coloring pages for restaurant entertainment, or a spillproof cup of Goldfish or Cheerios at just the right moment during a long errand run. I’ll have Band-Aids and hand sanitizer on my person at all times, several changes of season-appropriate clothes, and spare pacifiers in every corner because I swear to God those things have legs.

More likely I’ll forget a lot of stuff, a lot of the time. I’ll leave the baby powder container open because of sleep deprivation or laziness. At least once during her life I’m bound to dress her in direct opposition to the weather. I will—because sometimes it’s just funny—at some point laugh when she trips over air and slides down the hall on her knees, or walks into a wall because she's in that bizarre toddler fog and they're straight-up blind in those moments. And she’ll be ok. Just like Alex has always been ok, just like we are all ok, more or less, despite (or because of) parents who are human and as such make all kinds of mistakes along the way. Kids really are elastic, in mind, body, and spirit.

I also realize, sort of against my will, that these are the easy mistakes. For Alex, tweenhood, teen years, and beyond are right around the corner, harboring all kinds of as-yet-untold horrors. I'm bound to long for the days when my biggest missteps were forgetting to pack a snack or to remind him to brush his teeth. Golden simplicity. These are the days that one day will be the good old days.

Alex, you are my heart. I apologize in advance for all the screwing up I’ve yet to do.