mommywarsNewsflash – just because we share the experience of having grown a human in our wombs, doesn’t mean we always have to agree with each other. I’m comfortable with that. I like it. Arguing is healthy and anyone who thinks there’s anything fundamentally wrong with the “mommy wars” has clearly bought into the notion that we are the “gentler sex.” Spoiler alert: we’re not. We’re filled with rage and judgement. And wine.

I saw a photo essay today that brought all of these feelings up. It’s another attempt to “end the mommy wars.” It’s sweet and all – a bunch of women smiling at each other and pretending it’s all good for these staged photographs – It just happens to be a group of photos that evoke absolutely no feeling in my soul, whatsoever:

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See, I think this picture would be better if they were arm-wrestling. Or if it was an actual video with their children in it so we could see who was more well-adjusted.

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I want to know who’s happier. Whose kid is more clingy? Who makes a better martini?

What if I told you the mommy wars don’t really exist, it’s just that every time women have a differing opinion all hell breaks loose? If the mommy wars are just women not agreeing with each other – I’m all for them. None of us know what we’re doing. We’re all doing our best. But that doesn’t mean we need to have the same definition of “best.”

I get it. We all want to pretend to be above it all. But frankly, I don’t trust a person that never judges anyone. Who are you, Jesus? I don’t want to hang out with Jesus. Do you?

How are we all going to feel good about the decisions we’re making if there aren’t hordes of women making the opposite ones and failing worse than we are? What’s the point of even talking about any of this stuff if there isn’t a right way to do things? I mean, I’m usually not doing it but I’m comforted to know that it’s out there.

I breastfed, didn’t sleep train, made all my own baby food (for a while), held my kid whenever he cried, let him watch TV, drank wine and coffee while nursing, and made him his own meals. He’s now a horrible sleeper, a picky eater, and a tantrum thrower. I should be judged – I’m failing miserably.

As far as I’m concerned – long live the mommy wars. And could someone please invent a sarcasm font, for Christ’s sake?

(photo: Getty Images)