Tee time? Hold please, my toddler is climbing a tree!

Being a mama to a two-year-old boy is the wildest, most sacred, most exhausting thing I’ve ever done.

My little boy was recently suggested for an early intervention evaluation. He’s a happy, healthy toddler, he eats well, plays hard, and loves to explore, but he’s delayed in speech. He just doesn’t have time for talking, there is so much world to look at, and figure out. And watching him, I’ve started to realize… maybe I don’t either.

There’s a checklist constantly running in the background of motherhood. Milestones, goals, routines, wellness, self-care. It feels like everyone else is out there crushing it, moms journaling every morning, heading to Pilates, getting their nails done and their hair touched up while sipping a green juice. Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep my son from scaling the furniture like a rock wall or sprinting toward danger with a smile on his face.

He is a climber. He is a runner. He is energy in its purest, most determined form. And I need to keep up! Which leaves other responsibilities behind.

Back when I was learning about golf, I remember being totally overwhelmed. I couldn’t understand the swing. Elbow bent here, wrist straight there, turn your hips, not your shoulders, and whatever you do, don’t hit it like a baseball. It felt impossible to keep it all straight. Too many rules. Too much pressure. And if you mess one thing up, the whole swing falls apart. I couldnt do it. Finally, my husband said, lets just start from the beginning, and we did and now I can almost hit a good shot 50% of the time.

Kind of like motherhood.

I can’t always remember to take care of myself. I can’t always get my hair done. I can’t always get my nails done. I don’t always look put together. But in this season of life, I am Mom. And my son, is the most important thing. But still… it’s different for moms. There’s a mental load, a physical one, and a constant tug-of-war between who we are and what our kids need. Dear Anxiety Brain, I call her Betsy, “ma’am stfu, I am doing it all!”

So this Mother’s Day, I’m giving myself, and maybe you too, permission.

Permission to sleep in if your partner’s got the morning shift.

Permission to skip the self-help book and just scroll or rest.

Permission to not brush your hair for three days.

Permission to look like chaos and still be an incredible mom.

This is toddler motherhood. It’s survival. It’s sacred. It’s love in motion.

And it’s more than enough.