I tied the knot just a couple of months before I stumbled upon Pinterest, right around the time when barn weddings were all the rage. That moment is etched in my memory; the anger I felt discovering a more efficient way to plan my wedding rather than sifting through my endless digital files was intense. Think s’mores bars, homemade jam favors, floating paper lanterns, and an abundance of mason jars—seriously, there were mason jars everywhere. It was visually stunning yet made me want to scream.
As time passed, I pinned countless ideas. My dream home was mapped out, complete with various slide options in place of stairs. I had enough dinner recipes to ensure I wouldn’t have to eat the same slow-cooked meal twice within a presidential term. And with the thought of babies looming, I found myself drooling over meticulously designed nurseries that made my heart race.
Then came the moment when I actually got pregnant. My once-pretend baby pin board transformed into a reality, and I was about to create a lovely nursery to lounge in while being sleep-deprived and disheveled. During my first trimester’s morning sickness, I spent more time on the bathroom floor than I did on Pinterest, which led to a nursery theme that shifted nine times throughout my second trimester. In my third trimester, with my growing frustration, I barked orders at my husband as he worked on chevron stripes for the walls, while I futilely tried crocheting cute stuffed animals that I thought a newborn would appreciate.
The night before my induction, I frantically rearranged bookshelf vignettes instead of enjoying a nice dinner out with my husband. I even turned down our favorite restaurant to embroider an organic cotton onesie just to ensure our baby would be Instagram-ready for my modest following of 73. I went to bed worrying about whether I had chosen the right Dr. Seuss quote to hang on the wall.
The following months were a blur; babies are incredibly demanding, and I may have blocked out some of it. But as my son grew older and I gradually returned to some semblance of normalcy—like wearing a bra and managing to use the bathroom with the door almost closed—I revisited Pinterest and started a new board titled “1st Birthday Party.”
I was determined to throw my son an unforgettable birthday bash, one that he wouldn’t even remember. It would be a theme-less extravaganza inspired by a blurry picture of city lights. I envisioned healthy snacks artfully arranged on a tablescape adorned with coordinating textiles and hand-lettered cards with clever names for every item. Meanwhile, I imagined our mothers grabbing some balloons and a few candy bags from Party City for our own childhood birthday parties. But instead, I spent the night before my son’s big day sewing a birthday crown, because parenting is now a competitive sport.
After all that effort, I vowed to never let Pinterest dictate my life again. As a grown adult who sometimes can’t muster the energy to floss, the pressure to create elaborate bento box lunches and to keep my house smelling like essential oils was absurd. I’d rather tell my child to watch Netflix while I Febreze my yoga pants for a second wear than put together a sensory box filled with dried pasta and beans—who has time for that? I’d order pizza for dinner because when it comes down to it, my 30-minute meal never actually takes that long, and pizza arrives in 20 minutes.
When I met other moms at preschool, I made it clear that for snack day, I was simply tossing in cheese sticks and grapes. I refused to cut the grapes—let kids learn to chew properly! If I saw one more gluten-free fruit kabob fashioned into a cartoon character, I swore I’d lose it.
The next birthday party for my son was at one of those indoor play centers that felt like a more civilized Chuck E. Cheese. I went to bed at a reasonable hour the night before, bringing only cupcakes made from a box mix topped with rainbow icing. The kids devoured pizza and ran around like they were at a mini frat party. We didn’t clean up afterward, and everyone left happy—especially me, with leftover pizza in hand. The only bragging I did was proudly declaring, “I bought the decorations at Target!”
For all these reasons, I find myself a happier mother. Lowering the bar makes it much easier to clear. My intention isn’t to suggest that you should never do something special for your kids, but make sure it doesn’t become an everyday expectation. Otherwise, it loses its charm, and you’ll be too worn out to enjoy any of it. So just let it go. You can’t get drawn into the Mommy Wars if you step back and enjoy life with the cool kids.
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Summary
This blog post discusses the author’s decision to abandon the stress of DIY parenting ideals fueled by Pinterest, highlighting her journey from over-committing to simpler, more enjoyable approaches to motherhood. The author emphasizes the importance of keeping things special without overwhelming oneself with expectations.