Dear New Mom: You Can’t Cheat Karma!


I’m a mom.

I may have stopped brushing my hair, my makeup has long dried out and my au courant wardrobe has been replaced with comfortable pieces in the shade of dark, I have lengthy conversations with myself, and I often answer the door wearing pajamas. In the afternoon. I think our mailman has gotten used to it by now.

Sometimes we’re all still wearing pajamas when my husband comes home from work.

Trust me, I weighed the options. Turning me into a SUPER MOM that had the house (sort of) cleaned up (just squint your eyes a little…a liiiiittle more, there…see?), homemade dinner on the stove, and kids already bathed (haha) and ready for bed was an idea worth considering.

I could I pull it off, right???

Who was I kidding…

One look at me and it was clear my super-mom cape has been neatly folded away long gone.

How did all of this happen though?!?

I swore this would NEVER happen to me!

Oh… Right…

Motherhood - Karma

I guess I have to make a confession.

I’m not proud of it, so I’m just gonna whisper this one real quiet in here: I used to be a major Judgy Jasshole back in the day before I had kids.

It’s true.

I judged moms.

Moms, you clearly didn’t know what you were doing, and I could have done it so much better than you… 

But wait, it gets worse.

Here comes…

I sometimes rolled my eyes at you.

You probably didn’t notice between all that spilled food and runny noses and tantrums and accidents about to happen.

There may or may not have been subtle smirks and noticeable sighs as well, but I don’t have the heart to confess to that today. 

I never noticed the silent cry for help or the plea for compassion in your eyes.

For all that, I apologize.

Ready for some good news???

Your guardian angels have been watching. 

All of them. And all of their angel friends, too. 

Luckily for all of you innocent moms that I happened to completely intentionally scoff at, there is a very powerful tool.

It’s called KARMA.  

Apparently, Karma has its own set of strict laws and what goes around comes right back around. You can’t run away. Don’t bother.


How much lower can you go as a new mom than having a conversation with a store’s cashier trying to look and sound relatively ‘normal’ while having your NURSING BRA WIDE OPEN and the flaps hanging down and out of your cleavage?

Both sides…

An honest mistake. (Remind a seemingly constantly nursing mom with severe brain fog to check her bra before suddenly unzipping her sweatshirt in the public, and explain to the body of a lactating woman that it can stop sweating NOW, please.)

It could happen once, right? After all, we’re only human, and we’re bound to make mistakes and learn from them and all that crap.

But this happened more than once. Waaay more than once.

For a while it felt like moving was the right thing to do, but after our mailman was on the receiving end as well, I figured it wasn’t worth the hassle.

I planned to nurse for many years, and moving wouldn’t have been economically sustainable with my track record. Plus the entire world has probably seen the flesh of my boobs at that point anyway.

So I held my head up high and kept sweatshirts zipped up all year round and fully recovered. 

I hope others did as well.

Well played, Karma, well played…


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