Posted by Natasha Red on March 10, 2025
We all had those pre-kid moments, didn’t we? Those smug little thoughts while watching someone else’s toddler throw a tantrum in Target: “My kids will never act like that” or “I’ll never bribe my kids with candy” or my personal favorite, “I’ll never let screens babysit my children.”
Ha. Ha. HA.
Today, I’m laying it all bare. Consider this my formal apology to every parent I silently judged before I joined your ranks. Here are the confessions that would make pre-mom Natasha clutch her pearls:
I’ve Used Drive-Thru Food as a Threat AND a Reward
Just yesterday in the school pickup line, I heard myself say, “If you don’t stop hitting your sister, we’re NOT getting McDonald’s on the way home,” followed immediately by, “If you can sit quietly until we get Emma, we CAN get McDonald’s.”
Yes, I weaponized chicken nuggets, using them as both the carrot and the stick within a 30-second timespan. What’s worse? It worked. Pre-kid Natasha would be appalled at my nutritional inconsistency. Current Natasha just needed 10 minutes of peace and was willing to pay for it in french fries.
I’ve Faked Sleep So Many Times I Deserve an Oscar
Mark thinks I’m genuinely sleeping through Lily’s 2 AM cries at least half the time. The truth? I’m awake. Wide awake. But I’ve perfected the art of deep, rhythmic breathing while maintaining complete muscle relaxation as my husband sighs, gets up, and handles it.
Is it fair? No. Is it necessary for my mental health occasionally? Absolutely. The mom-guilt hits around 7 AM when he’s exhausted, but by then I’ve made his coffee and packed the kids’ lunches, so we’re even. Sort of.
I’ve Hidden in My Car Eating Chocolate
Last Tuesday, I sat in our garage for 22 minutes after grocery shopping. The kids were with Mark. The ice cream was safely in the freezer. And I was in the driver’s seat, engine off, quietly demolishing a king-size Snickers that didn’t make it onto the receipt.
I didn’t share. I didn’t feel bad. I just chewed slowly, scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, and enjoyed the only truly private moment I’d had in 72 hours.
I’ve Sent Dirty Kids to School
Emma once wore the same jeans three days in a row because she insisted they weren’t dirty, and I lacked the emotional bandwidth to argue about it. Jake has definitely gone to school with yesterday’s dirt still behind his ears because he slept late and our morning became a time-management nightmare.
And Lily? Well, Lily went to preschool with pasta sauce in her hair last month because she fell asleep in the car on the way there, and waking a sleeping toddler for a quick shampoo is a risk assessment I’m not willing to make without hazard pay.
I’ve Lied to My Children. Repeatedly.
The number of times I’ve said “the ice cream is all gone” while standing directly in front of the freezer containing ice cream is staggering. I’ve told them the battery in a particularly annoying toy is dead when I’ve actually just hidden the batteries in my sock drawer.
I’ve convinced Jake that the WiFi automatically turns off after 8 PM (it doesn’t; I just change the password). I’ve told Emma that her favorite shirt was in the wash when really I just couldn’t bear to see her wear that ratty thing to one more social event.
And the playground? I’ve definitely said it was “closed for cleaning” on days when I just couldn’t face the social anxiety of small talk with other parents.
I’ve Used TV as a Babysitter While I Was Literally in the Same Room
There have been Sunday mornings when all five of us were in the living room—four of us physically present, and one of us (me) mentally checked out behind a phone screen while some animated heroes saved their animated world for the hundredth time.
The kids were safe. They were fed. They were even technically supervised. But was I engaged? Absolutely not. I was scrolling through recipes I’ll never make, houses I’ll never buy, and vacation destinations we’ll visit someday when traveling with kids doesn’t feel like relocating a small, chaotic army.
I’ve Cried in the Pantry
Not just once. Multiple times. Sometimes it’s because I’m overwhelmed, sometimes it’s because someone said something thoughtlessly cruel about my parenting, and sometimes it’s for no discernible reason except that I’m tired down to my bones.
The pantry is perfect because it has a door, it’s small enough that no one thinks to look for me there, and I can pretend I’m searching for ingredients if I get caught. My record is nine minutes of silent crying while holding an unopened box of pasta before Lily found me and asked why I was “being so quiet with the spaghetti.”
The Realest Confession of All
Here’s the truth beneath all these confessions: I wouldn’t trade this chaotic life for anything. Not for all the uninterrupted bathroom breaks or hot coffees or clean houses in the world.
Yes, I’ve lowered my standards so far they’re practically subterranean. Yes, I’ve compromised on things I swore would be non-negotiable. Yes, I sometimes count the minutes until bedtime starting at 11 AM.
But these three challenging, beautiful, maddening little humans have cracked my heart wide open, forcing me to be more honest about my limitations, more forgiving of my mistakes, and more present in the moments that matter.
So here’s to the mom confessions, the pantry cries, the hidden chocolate, and the white lies about the ice cream being “all gone.” We’re doing our best, even when our best looks nothing like we imagined it would.
What about you? Drop your mom confessions in the comments—judgment-free zone guaranteed. We’re all in this beautiful mess together.
Natasha Red is a working mom of three who writes about the unfiltered realities of modern motherhood. When she’s not hiding from her children or pretending to be asleep, she can be found overcommitting to school volunteer opportunities she doesn’t have time for and forgetting to switch the laundry until it starts to smell funny.
