Kristi Pahr

I’m frazzled, y’all; I’m a mess. I’m a basketcase of anxiety and stress and I need to chill.

It is understood that to effectively and officially attachment parent your child, you need to hit all the markers, check all the boxes, and do it without dissolving into a crying mess on the floor when your baby won’t stop crying and you only slept for two hours and you have to go to the supermarket because you’re out of coffee, but you shouldn’t even be DRINKING coffee and you’re the worst mother in the world.

As a mother of boys, I find this trend disturbing. Yes, we need to build up our girls. We need to empower them and teach them that they are capable and viable and powerful — that they are smart and that they matter. But we cannot devalue our boys in the process.

My version of self-care is a little less “best life” and a little more “no life”, but it works for me.

I have a confession to make. Target, meh. I’m just not that into it.

I’m lazy as hell, you guys. I know it’s true and I’m not particularly ashamed.

Things as simple as a missed call from an unknown number or someone knocking on your door put me into straight up fight or flight. I really do hide from people who come to my door. Real talk, I have gotten on my hands and knees below a window so they wouldn’t see me. I’ve even hidden in the closet. I know. Whacko.