I tied the knot just two months before Pinterest became a household name, right around the time barn weddings were all the rage. I still vividly recall the frustration I felt when I discovered there was an easier way to plan my wedding than sifting through endless folders cluttering my bookmarks bar. There were s’mores bars, homemade jam favors, floating paper lantern send-offs, and of course, an ocean of mason jars. It was picturesque, yet it also sent me into a mild panic.
As time passed, I found myself pinning thousands of ideas. I envisioned my dream home, complete with slides instead of stairs, and gathered enough dinner recipes to ensure I’d never eat the same crockpot dish twice during a presidential term. With thoughts of babies swirling in my mind, my carefully curated nursery boards made my heart race.
Then, reality hit—I got pregnant. My fantasy nursery transformed from a digital dream to an impending reality, and in just nine months, I would have a little one to nurture. During the relentless morning sickness of my first trimester, I was often found sprawled on the bathroom floor, desperately clutching a Pinterest-approved cleaning solution made of organic vinegar and eco-friendly bleach. My nursery theme shifted nearly a dozen times in my second trimester, while I sat in my rocking chair, barking orders at my husband about the spacing of chevron stripes on the walls. My swollen fingers struggled to crochet adorable stuffed animals that would somehow be practical for a drooling newborn.
The night before my induction, I frantically arranged and rearranged the decor. I even turned down a lovely dinner out with my husband to embroider an organic cotton onesie, determined to ensure our baby looked Instagram-ready for his big debut to my 73 followers. I went to bed questioning whether I’d chosen the perfect Dr. Seuss quote to hang on the wall.
The next seven months are a hazy blur—newborns are challenging, and I might have intentionally blocked some of it out. But as my son grew, I slowly returned to normal activities like wearing a bra and occasionally using the bathroom without an audience. I found myself back on Pinterest, pinning ideas for my son’s first birthday party.
I was determined to throw an unforgettable bash for my baby, who wouldn’t remember a single moment. It would be a theme-less theme party. Inspired by a photo of blurred city lights, I envisioned a gathering filled with meticulously arranged healthy snacks and hand-lettered signs with punny names for everything. Meanwhile, I could only imagine our mothers, who probably just swung by Party City to grab a few decorations for our own birthdays. But there I was, up until 3 a.m. sewing a birthday crown, because the world had changed.
That was the moment I vowed to ditch Pinterest for good. As a full-grown adult, I often struggled to find the energy to floss my teeth. But as a stay-at-home mom, I was somehow expected to craft bento box lunches and clean with essential oils? No, thank you.
I’d rather tell my kid to watch Netflix while I spray Febreze on my yoga pants rather than waste time making a sensory box filled with dried pasta and beans. I’d order pizza for dinner because, even though a homemade meal might take longer than 30 minutes, pizza would be at my door in 20. I’d use store-bought cleaners instead of DIY concoctions because I’d take chemicals over a potential E. coli outbreak any day. Most importantly, I refused to engage in pointless competition with other moms under the guise of being a super-parent.
When my son started preschool, I quickly informed the other moms that my snack contribution would be cheese sticks and grapes—unmodified. I wouldn’t be cutting the grapes, so they could teach their kids to chew properly. And if I saw one more gluten-free fruit kabob shaped like Olaf, there would be a showdown.
For my son’s next birthday, we hosted the celebration at one of those indoor play venues, reminiscent of Chuck E. Cheese but without the chaos. I went to bed early the night before, and the only contribution I made was cupcakes from a box mix topped with bright, sugary frosting. The kids devoured pizza and juice, running around like they were at a mini-frat party. There was no cleanup afterward, and my son had a blast while I enjoyed leftover pizza. My proudest moment was excitedly proclaiming, “I bought the decorations at Target!” to every adult I met.
For all my efforts to simplify, I found myself much happier. Not caring about the little things made the parenting journey far more enjoyable. The lower the bar, the easier it was to clear it while wearing stretchy pants. My point isn’t that you shouldn’t put in effort for your kids; it’s just that doing so every day makes it less special and leaves you too exhausted to enjoy anything. So just let it go. You can’t get dragged into the Mommy Wars if you step back and join the cool kids under the bleachers.
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In summary, stepping back from the pressures of DIY parenting has brought me more joy than I ever expected. Embracing simplicity allows me to enjoy motherhood without the constant stress of competition.
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