There is a very specific kind of overstimulation that I don’t think I truly understood until I became a mom.

One kid is crying.

Another one is asking for a snack while actively holding a snack.

Someone can’t find something that has apparently become my responsibility to locate.

The TV is on volume 5000. A toy is making a noise that should honestly be illegal. Someone needs a diaper change. There’s laundry sitting in the washing machine that I have now restarted twice because I forgot about it.

And somehow, in the middle of all of this, my husband decides this is the perfect time to start telling me something.

A normal story.

With details.

And follow-up information.

Sir.

I currently have multiple people making noises at me. I have approximately 37 tabs open in my brain. This is not the time to tell me about something you saw at Costco.

And then comes the advice every overstimulated mother has been waiting her entire life to hear:

“You just need to relax.”

Oh.

RELAX.

Incredible.

I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.

Problem solved.

It’s Not One Big Thing. It’s 400 Tiny Things.

That’s the part I find hardest to explain.

Most days, there isn’t one enormous disaster happening.

It’s just everything happening at the same time.

Someone needs a cup. Someone else is crying because their sibling looked at them incorrectly. I’m mentally figuring out dinner while remembering that we’re almost out of diapers. There’s an appointment I need to book, a load of laundry that needs to move, something happening at daycare that I need to remember, and I’m pretty sure somebody has outgrown another pair of shoes.

And then someone asks:

“What’s wrong?”

Nothing.

Everything.

I don’t know.

Please stop asking me questions for approximately four minutes.

Motherhood can feel like being the air traffic controller for an airport where none of the pilots can read and everyone is screaming.

And somehow you’re still expected to remember where everybody left their water bottle.

Back-to-School Season Just Turns Up the Volume

Then back-to-school season arrives.

Suddenly the already-full brain gets a few more tabs.

Backpacks. Lunches. Forms. Calendars. Drop-offs. Pickups. Theme days. Appointments. Clothes that suddenly don’t fit. Shoes. Snacks. Emails. Activities.

And, of course, the absolutely terrifying sentence:

“Mom, I need this for tomorrow.”

Usually announced at approximately 8:47 p.m.

Wonderful.

Love that for us.

Even if your kids aren’t all school-aged yet, the end of summer seems to bring that same feeling. Routines change. Schedules start again. Everyone needs something.

And Mom somehow becomes the keeper of all information.

Apparently We’re All Married to the Same Person

One of my favourite things about talking to my married mom friends is discovering that apparently we are all married to the same person.

Different husbands.

Different houses.

Same conversations.

“Where are his shoes?”

The same place we’ve kept his shoes for the last two years.

“Are we out of diapers?”

Yes. That’s why they’re on the grocery list.

“What time do we have to leave?”

The time I told you yesterday.

And then my personal favourite:

“Why are you stressed?”

I don’t know, babe.

Maybe it’s the crying toddler attached to my leg, the other child yelling from the next room, the dinner burning on the stove and the fact that you’re currently asking me where something is without having looked for it.

Could be anything, really.

To be fair, I don’t think most husbands are intentionally trying to drive us insane.

Sometimes they’re just existing peacefully in a house where I am apparently running an invisible command centre.

And I envy that peace.

Deeply.

Sometimes I Don’t Want Advice. I Want a “ME TOO.”

This is one of the things my mom friends have taught me.

Sometimes I don’t actually need somebody to solve the problem.

I need to send a text saying:

“You will NOT believe what just happened.”

And I need someone to immediately respond:

“SAME.”

Or:

“Mine did that yesterday.”

Or the classic:

“Are we married to the same man?”

And suddenly the thing that had me ready to lose my mind ten minutes ago becomes funny.

Nothing about the situation has actually changed.

The kids are still kids.

The house is still loud.

The laundry is still sitting there.

But somebody else gets it.

And that matters more than I ever realized before becoming a mom.

The Mom Group Chat Deserves an Award

There should genuinely be some kind of national recognition for the mom group chat.

It’s where we bring the things we can’t believe just happened.

The toddler behaviour we’re secretly wondering is completely abnormal.

The dinner nobody ate.

The ridiculous argument we just had with our spouse.

The photo of the disaster someone created approximately 90 seconds after we cleaned it.

And inevitably somebody responds:

“Oh my God, mine does that too.”

And there it is.

The relief.

Because sometimes motherhood can make you wonder if everybody else has figured out something you haven’t.

Then you talk to your friends and realize:

Oh.

No.

We’re all winging it.

Excellent.

Maybe You’re Not Bad at Handling It. Maybe It’s Just A Lot.

There is so much information coming at moms all day long.

Noise.

Touch.

Questions.

Decisions.

Planning.

Remembering.

Anticipating what everyone will need next.

Even when you’re sitting down, your brain often isn’t.

You’re thinking about tomorrow.

Dinner.

Appointments.

Groceries.

Whether somebody pooped today.

Whether the milk is about to expire.

The birthday present you still need to buy.

The email you forgot to answer.

The mysterious cup of milk you know exists somewhere in the house but haven’t located yet.

So yes, sometimes we’re overstimulated.

Sometimes we’re touched out.

Sometimes a completely innocent question makes us want to scream:

NOBODY SPEAK TO ME.

And five minutes later we’re perfectly fine.

That’s motherhood sometimes.

That’s Why This Little Corner of the Internet Exists

That’s a big part of why I created The World’s Most Okayest Mom.

Not because I’ve figured motherhood out.

Quite the opposite.

I don’t want this to become another corner of the internet giving moms 47 additional things they should be doing.

You have enough things to do.

Sometimes I’ll share something that genuinely made my life easier.

Maybe it’s an activity that bought me twenty minutes.

A meal my kids actually ate.

A way I finally contained some of the toys taking over my house.

A routine that helped.

Or something I bought that was surprisingly worth the money.

And sometimes I just want to talk about the ridiculous parts of motherhood that we don’t always say out loud.

Because I want you to read something here and think:

Oh thank God. It’s not just my house.

Sometimes advice helps.

Sometimes a solution helps.

And sometimes being understood helps more.

We’re All in a Season

That’s something my friends and I remind each other of constantly.

It’s a season.

The sleepless nights are a season.

The tantrums are a season.

The toys covering every surface are a season.

The constant snacks, diapers, daycare bags, crying, carrying, wiping and repeating yourself 900 times are a season.

Some seasons are beautiful.

Some are exhausting.

Most are somehow both.

And when one of us is having a particularly hard time, the others remind her that she’s not the only one living this version of motherhood.

Eventually, we’re going to miss parts of this chaos.

Probably not all of it.

I’m fairly confident I will never look back wistfully on someone screaming because I cut their toast incorrectly.

But some of it.

So we keep cheering each other on.

We complain.

We laugh.

We send the texts.

We say “ME TOO.”

And then we get up tomorrow and do it all again.

Welcome to the Overstimulated Mom Club

So if you’re reading this while someone is crying, something is beeping, you’ve reheated the same coffee three times, and another adult is attempting to tell you a detailed story while you stare silently into the middle distance…

Welcome.

You’re among friends.

You don’t need another person telling you to enjoy every minute.

You don’t need to have a perfectly organized house, a perfectly regulated nervous system, perfectly behaved kids or a colour-coded family calendar.

And you definitely don’t need me telling you to just relax.

We’re not doing motherhood perfectly over here.

We’re just trying to make life a little easier, laugh at the ridiculous parts and remind each other that we’re not the only ones finding this hard.

Real life. Good enough. Always.

— The World’s Most Okayest Mom