Mom shame, mom guilt, mom fails—whatever you choose to label it as—it exists, and the struggle is REAL. The whole feeling less than, not as good as, I can’t believe my child just did that, she makes this mom thing look easy, can’t fit into your jeans, chugging water and coffee simultaneously, haven’t washed your hair in eight days, beautiful mess of this thing called motherhood . . . any of this ringing a bell?

If so, you might just be a mama like me. And maybe, like me, you’ve felt all the things listed above and then some . . . with a heavy heaping of baby shark on the side.

I’ve been a mom all of three exhausting and fun years. Some days I wish I could pause time and be on the beach by myself sipping on a Mai Tai, and then there are other days where I can’t stop squeezing my babies’ cheeks and smiling from how dang cute they are. It’s a roller coaster of emotions, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to go a lot faster the older my kids get.

One thing I have learned to cope with, or at least expect on occasion (more often than that but I’m trying to save a little face here), is feeling like a failure as a mother. I have an exhaustive list of funny anecdotal stories I could share to really bring this point home, but probably one of the more funny and ironic stories of mom failure happened the other day.

Let me set the stage: It was yet another themed event at my son’s preschool, smack dab after a Christmas celebration and turning the corner towards Valentine’s Day. In fact, it was a milestone moment because I would be attending my first “Muffins With Mom” event. Yep, a special time for me and my 3 year old to eat breakfast and celebrate what an awesome and loving mom I am—the apple of his big blue eyes, as I certainly assumed I was.

We arrived promptly five minutes late with a splash of chaos in our step (a typical morning for me because lets be real—having kids did not change the fact that I am NOT a morning person). All the other moms and their precious southern daughters were already sitting around the kid’s table eating muffins. We quickly found the muffins and as we were heading to our spot at the tiny table and chairs, Lincoln walked straight past me to the corner of the room and sat with his hands over his face pouting. And there he sat for the next 30 minutes while I ate a mini muffin by myself in a chair less than half my size next to all the other moms and their well-behaved daughters. After an exhaustive effort on my part to make my boy smile—whispered promises of ice cream, tickles, etc.,—he wasn’t budging. He was dead set that muffins with his mom was not happening today.

So, I waited and after what felt like an eternity. I decided that I was not going to force a memory and that I needed to get home for a meeting. I felt bad for being the last one there and now the first one to leave. And to add insult to injury, as I was getting up Lincoln doubled down and began crying because I was deserting him all alone (since you know we we’re having such a glorious time together in the first place). So now the on-timers and daughters were enjoying their blissful morning, my child has not talked to me in 30 minutes, and now that I’m leaving he is making an even bigger scene. I stand up, pray to the good Lord that my child will not pass out from his dramatic tears and head to work. I’m almost home when I receive a text from my friend, who also happens to also be Lincoln’s teacher, with a picture of my beautiful, blue-eyed boy with a huge grin and a mouthful of muffin. Alas, my baby did not want to celebrate muffins with his mom. Nope, he wanted muffins with his friend’s mom . . . I was the problem.

It stung for about two beats, but then I was so thankful she was there, and that once I left he did get to enjoy the event. I then bought myself a donut (because I can do better than a muffin) and went home to snuggle my other baby who is too young to know how to publicly reject me (for now).

I’d be lying if I told you that sitting there in the world’s tiniest chair watching the other kids and their moms wasn’t a little awkward or that it didn’t make me feel a tinge of sadness. It most definitely did, I wanted Lincoln to sit with me-—even if just for a second—and smile for a picture. It also stung a little that as soon as I was gone he had the best time ever with someone else. But at the same time, it was a moment for me to remember that my child is not the sun and my world does not revolve around how I think others may perceive me as a mother. In fact, my child’s world revolves around me for now because I take care of him, I nurture him, I let him explore and experience life, his world spins when I tell him how much I love him, I tend to his boo boos, and I create crazy games to make him belly laugh deeper than anyone else.

I know that most days I am kicking Gerber baby butt as a mom and even when he doesn’t show it, or can’t say it, I’ve got this thing down. So I have grace with myself, and then I tell myself to give a little more grace (and then some more), until I’m overflowing with encouragement, grace, and kindness towards myself. The real lesson of parenthood is that you will never be the perfect parent. In fact, oftentimes doing the right thing as a mother feels to your child like the worst thing. Our children, and the other moms looking on, do not dictate how I see myself (and they don’t want to either). So, I need to remember to be kind to myself and be kind to others because kids will always be kids.

You may find yourself thinking from time to time when another mom is dealing with a Target tantrum I’m glad that’s not my kid, but don’t you worry—your kid will do something someday that will make you want to crawl in a corner and die. In that moment, I pray that you choose kindness, take a deep breath, and a heaping serving of grace and keep on keeping on. Motherhood is a lot of  things, but what we can’t ever let it be is a mirror in which we decide whether or not we are good enough or loved enough. Because mama, you are doing a good work, and you are so loved.