Allison Cooper

Stretch marks. Tiger stripes. Road maps. Ant trails. Tattoos. Mommy stripes.

Oh yes — you read correctly.

Luck.

Finding yourself doing extra loads of laundry because your toddler’s favorite T-shirt is dirty and you know there will be the mother of all meltdowns tomorrow if it’s not clean?

3^rd grade is no joke. There really isn’t any way around it, their curriculum is tough shit.

I can’t contain the thrill inside me to see where these beloved characters of mine ended up in life. There is definitely some binge watching of the original seasons in store for me so that I can make some educated predications.

When I brought my son into the world, I thought that he would be an awful lot like me. He had to be, right? He grew inside me; I nourished him; I was the one home with him day in and day out during those very impressionable years, while my husband worked a grueling military schedule — yet there are few similarities to be found.

When I take a sip of this sweet elixir, I come alive and can go about my day with my head screwed on straight. Coffee is my hero and my first love.

I was so consumed with being selfless that I never stopped to take care of myself, and it all came to a head. Now after turning 30 things have changed!

I can't just embrace the chaos. I wish I could follow the advice: “Stop stressing, Allison, you work full time, stop comparing yourself to mothers who don’t." But I can’t help but to play that comparing game and label myself as the inadequate mom.