Allison Carr Mutha Magazine Repack (90% Instant)

Mutha Magazine is the only place I’ve ever seen that acknowledges this duality without trying to fix it. It doesn’t say, “Here are five ways to get your sparkle back!” It says, “Your sparkle is currently in the laundry with a juice box explosion. It’s fine. Have a glass of wine.”

Then I became a mother, and I realized the filter is a lie. The real work of raising children is not about perfecting the image; it’s about learning to see through the smudge. allison carr mutha magazine

But she was right, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t sad in that photo. She was furious. And I was exhausted. And the two feelings had occupied the same square inch of our kitchen floor. Mutha readers know this space. It’s the space where the pristine fantasy of motherhood—the one sold to us in the glossy magazines at the pediatrician’s office—goes to die. It is replaced by something rawer, funnier, and infinitely more true. Mutha Magazine is the only place I’ve ever

By Allison Carr

Before I had my daughter, I thought motherhood was a filter. I thought you applied it to your life and suddenly everything was softer, warmer, saturated with purpose. I would watch other women push strollers and think they were living inside a lifestyle blog. I didn’t see the crusted Cheerio stuck to the jogger’s wheel. I didn’t see the dark circles under the sunglasses. Have a glass of wine

I think about that photo my daughter found. The “sad” one. In it, I am not performing. I am not trying to be a “good mom” for the ‘gram. I am just being a mom. My hand is dirty. The light is fluorescent. The moment is ugly. And yet, that is the photo she was drawn to. Not the Easter portrait. Not the beach sunset. The Tuesday morning apocalypse.