Every teenage girl in the 90s had a bazillion scrunchies. Being that I was a teenage girl in the 90’s meant my collection was on fleek. I had one in every color, and rocked them on the regular. I’m pretty sure 99% of my pom pictures include me sporting a maroon and white one. These amazingly ugly hair ties are also making a come back. Man, I love the 90’s and 90’s fashion. I fully plan to rock a fanny pack like Carrie Bradshaw, but these, eh not so much.
The money I could’ve made if I only had saved all my high school clothes and sold them as vintage! Why can’t I have bigger closets for this very reason? It’s got to count as a financial investment or something, right?
Maybe my love of this amazing hair accessory has impacted my mama bear style? Maybe…But anyway, I recently learned I’m what they call a scrunchy mama. I’m super behind on the mama style labeling. Apparently, you’re supposed to pick one style.
If you are like me, you had no idea there are labels for your mama style. I arrived at this whole mom life thing with the motto “Just don’t let them die.” If I could do that on a daily basis, it surely meant I was winning at this job.
Score 1 for me! My kids are still alive!
Alas, there are actual labels for all kinds of parenting types. Did you know that you could be a crunchy mom or a silky mom? Leave it to me, to not follow the norm on either side. Apparently, I fall into a third category called scrunchy. I’m really good at getting the side-eye because I don’t fit the first two labels well. Oops. Along with this new found labeling, now comes with a whole lot of mom judging and mom shaming these days. I was a mom without a mom style tribe.
I’m just over here in survival mode trying to keep my kids from killing each other, and to eat the majority of their food from their plates and not off the floor.
So, what is this scrunchy category you ask? Well, for example I breastfed both of my spawn, but I went back to work with both at 3 months. So I pumped and gave them bottles of pumped milk. Totes crunchy style, but with E I also supplemented formula, well because he needed to be fed and fed is best. So fed wins, and voila you have a blend of the two styles.
But you see, I didn’t just stop there. That would’ve been too easy. This mama can’t do anything black and white. We like lots of grey. Scrunchy is nice and grey.
In my quest for survival the last three plus years, my kids have sometimes been fed organic food. And gasp, sometimes conventional produce slips past their tiny lips, too. But, let’s be real here, my kids have been known to eat food off the floor. For real, E as of late purposely throws his food on the floor, and as we take him out of the high chair his new game is to try and eat the food super fast before we can sweep or vacuum it up. (And if you’re wondering, Dyson hand held vacuums are amazing. I even vacuum my kid with it. No I’m not joking.)So I count the fact that it’s any type of produce a win.
We also practiced baby led weaning in our house. Baby led what? BLW just means the baby leads with the food they eat. See, it’s kind of crunchy!!! I mean, I tried the puréed route for all of one week with Viv, but that stuff is gross. I don’t care how you feed your kids, but puréed meat should be banned in all forms. Yuck. BLW meant my kids ate the same table food we did. It honestly made my life much easier, I didn’t have to shop for so much baby food. We still would bring pouches with us occasionally if we were out and about for convenience. Applesauce pouches are kind of amazing. It’s the one purée I will forever give a pass to. I’ll eat that stuff forever, and totally sneak my kids snack pouches now.
I occasionally have been known to slap my babies in an Ergo carrier and wear my kids around, as well. It’s how both kids spent the first few weeks. However, after that this wasn’t usually done in an attachment parenting sense in our house. It was usually done in the sense that my oldest was being lazy and wants to actually ride in the stroller (lately the princess requests this chariot) and I was also being too lazy to bust out the double. Because I have a stroller collection to rival the size of Imelda Marcos shoe collection I usually oblige.
Even our sleep habits haven’t escaped the scrunchiness. I spent time bed sharing with Little Man. Why? Because this mama needed sleep, and rolling over to stick a boob in his mouth was so much easier than walking down the hall.
But wait, I didn’t go all crunchy down the sleep hole, you see! I sleep trained both kiddos at 9 months. Viv we did on our own, and well with Little Man I must have become a big weanie, because I needed help kicking him out of my bed and called in a sleep consultant. We don’t do Cry It Out in our house, but we do sleep train. Yes, there is a difference. I promise. E really didn’t cry, and shockingly neither did mama. I mean he still wanted in my bed, but who wouldn’t want the king bed over the tiny crib? Why do you think Dan and I bought the king bed in the first place? It is pretty awesome.
My silky mama side showed through a bit when it comes to their health, and I vaccinated our kids (well because science, plus I also paid good money for a B.S. degree and suffered through hours and hours of science classes. I actually believe in it,yo.) I like my kids healthy without a side of smallpox. I also chose a doctor that is super into technology that will FaceTime with you after hours when your kid is sick or can use a specialized app for at home ear infection diagnosis. Um, how cool is that?
I also birthed my kids out my lady bits, but did so with drugs. I tried twice to go without and tried the crunchy route and hired a doula for both births. I made it through 16 hours of back labor between the two without them. Back labor is the devil, yo. 16 hours of feeling like I was being sliced in half should win me a medal. My reward was drugs. They were damn good, too.
I am the queen of scrunchy.
But alas I have a tribe! I can be down with that. Mamahood is hard. I ain’t got time for the all the side-eye. I may even bust out an old scrunchy to pay homage to my new found homies.