As Mother's Day approaches, I'd like to suggest that what we desperately need is permission to take this whole motherhood gig a little less seriously. Because motherhood is as ridiculous as it is serious.
Two even better pieces of good news? First, science confirms that humor is good for us and for our kids, and for our relationships.1 Laughter turns out to be nature’s free therapy (no copay required). And second, parenthood ridiculousness comes standard with every child—some assembly required, batteries unnecessary, and no "gift receipt" needed because it's the gift that keeps on giving, whether you like it or not.
Plot Twist: None of This Actually Matters (Much)
One of the greatest ironies of motherhood is that while we're obsessing over organic snacks, educational toys, and whether that one episode of Bluey traumatized them for life, mountains of serious research suggest that most of what we agonize over barely moves the needle. It's a bit like how we spend hours dropping a small fortune on the perfect blend of wild-caught salmon and ancient grains—all while fully aware that given the opportunity, our beloved pooch will happily feast on another dog's poop in the park.2
Motherhood follows the same absurd logic. Those developmental milestones? Turns out kids hit them when they're good and ready, regardless of how many flashcards you wave in their faces. Their future career success? Not determined by which preschool they attended, despite what the waitlist panic suggested. Their health outcomes? More connected to genetics and pure luck than whether you pureed their carrots by hand or bought them in a pouch.
We're out here thinking our words of wisdom are being carefully cataloged by our children, when in reality they're not paying attention at all because they are waiting excitedly for their silent and deadly fart to hit our nose. We meticulously plan nutritious meals while waiting for them to go to bed so we can eat the hidden ice cream bars. We spend time and our hard-earned money planning Pinterest-worthy birthday extravaganzas, stressing over activities, timelines, and whether that bounce house rental includes liability insurance. Meanwhile, as this hilarious newsletter from one of my favorite Substack writers,
, confirms, the most memorable, joy-filled gatherings for kids are the ones where they just... hang out. With last-minute ordered cheap pizza, minimal structure, and zero hand-crafted party favors.And then there's the magnificent hypocrisy pageant we stage daily. We deliver impassioned lectures about responsibility while forgetting to pay the bills. We enforce strict screen time limits with the righteous fury of a digital detox guru, knowing full well we’ll be entering our own two-hour social media trance after the kids go to bed. Those parenting books on our nightstands might as well be titled "Do As I Say, Not As I Do: A Parent's Guide to Impressive Hypocrisy While Still Raising Decent Humans” and “Things That Probably Don't Matter Nearly As Much As You Think They Do, Volume 27.”
The Science of Maternal Laughter
The good news? All this evidence that our parenting choices barely matter combined with our kids’ natural comedic genius and our own spectacular talent for hypocrisy creates the perfect comedy storm. And as it turns out, finding the humor in this ridiculous mismatch between our parental aspirations and our human reality isn't just therapeutic—it's scientifically proven to make us better parents. Who knew our kids’ being gross plus our own inconsistency were actually parenting superpowers? Because finding the funny is scientifically proven to make us better parents. And our kids learn to take life a little less seriously from us.
Studies show that laughter reduces stress hormones, improves immune function, and releases endorphins. One study found that people who were raised by adults who used humor had a better view of their parents or caregivers, were more likely to say they have a good relationship with them, and were more likely to say they did a good job. And don’t forget: Our kids are taking notes. This study also showed that people raised by funny adults said that they would use the same parenting techniques. Our kids learn how to laugh at life's absurdities by watching us do it first. So really, that inappropriate giggle during your toddler's public meltdown? That's not you losing it—that's advanced parenting. You were practicing evidence-based stress management and modeling good humor.
So, the next time someone gives you a disapproving look for laughing when your toddler announces bodily functions to strangers, just whisper, "I'm following the research.” Then do a “drop mic” move and walk away.
The Comedy Gold We're Given Daily
In all of the conversations about whether or not our children are ok and what else we need to do as mothers, we forget to laugh. The parenting industrial complex has us so worried about our children's futures that we're missing the comedy festival happening right now in our own homes.
It’s babies who think 3AM is the perfect time for a hang and toddlers who proudly announce their bodily functions to your dinner guests and insist their sandwich tastes wrong after you cut it into rectangles instead of triangles. It’s the four-year-old who announces to the entire restaurant that they love their new "fork" (but the 'r' is suspiciously absent) and spend 45 minutes putting on their own shoes, only to wear them on the wrong feet anyway.
It’s the elementary schoolers who can remember every Pokémon character but "forget" where the hamper is located. Middle schoolers who need detailed instructions to operate a broom but somehow figured out how to change your phone language to Korean. And teenagers who consider noon "early morning," believe showering is optional but $200 sneakers are essential, can spend two hours getting ready to go "nowhere special," and text their friends from the other side of the couch to ask what's for dinner.
Who needs an expensive ticket to a comedy show when our kids already have their 'tight ten' standup routines all locked up?3
This Mother's Day, Let's Ask for What We Really Need
So perhaps this Mother's Day, instead of another mug that says "World's Best Mom" (as if motherhood is some sort of competitive sport), what we should really ask for is the gift of perspective. The ability to laugh when your kindergartner decides to give herself a haircut the day before school pictures. The serenity to accept that your living room will never stay clean for more than 7 minutes. The courage to admit that sometimes, we hide in our cars for five extra minutes just to finish our podcasts in peace. And the humility to acknowledge that, despite our best intentions, we will accidentally send our child to "Wear Red Day" in a blue outfit.
Because in the circus of motherhood, the real gift isn't perfection – it's laughing about the absolute ridiculousness of it all. Like when you finally muster the energy to cook a nutritious meal and your child asks if they can have cereal instead. Or when you spend two hours cleaning only to have someone walk in and ask, "When are you going to clean the house?" Or my personal favorite: when you're giving a very serious talk about making good choices right after you've eaten their Halloween candy and hidden the wrappers.
Happy Un-Mother's Day to all of us glorious disasters making it up as we go along!
Like and share this newsletter! Or don't. I'm not your mother. (But if I were, I'd be pretending to be asleep while you decide.)
Nothing says “I really know how to party” like citing peer-reviewed studies on laughter, am I right?
I'm a relatively new dog owner, but I remain utterly baffled by my four-legged connoisseur who turns his nose up at premium kibble only to treat the neighborhood's collection of canine droppings like he's discovered a Michelin-star tasting menu.
Me. I need expensive comedy tickets. For Mother’s Day. Specifically to Amy Poehler and Tina Fey’s show. Thanks kids!
I love this essay so much. Parenthood is much more fun when we find a little humor in it. Just this week I was laughing really hard with one of my therapy clients, and thinking about how connecting humor can be. Those are some of my favorite moments - as a mom and a therapist.
Okay, I loved all of this (especially the part where you give me a shout-out! Thank you!!! Our posts were very well-timed!) The "silent fart" line got a laugh out of my son too. I feel liberated! (But I'm still going to obsess over why his sons keep ripping? Foot parasite???? Razors in his feet???? Or is it because he insists on playing basketball without shoes on?)