IN DEFENSE OF MOMMY WARS. Kind of. But really, not. But kind of.

I know a lot of people act like they're perfect humans. And some people are really good actors. But that's what they are. Really good actors. Not perfect humans.

Others of us aren't faking sh*t. We're just doing the best we can. Sometimes it involves knowing that we COULD do better IN THEORY but admitting that we CANNOT do better IN REALITY. And sometimes it involves believing that we are ACTUALLY doing what's BEST but knowing that others will disagree.

And this is my favorite thing about the universe: If someone has the balls to judge us for any part of that, we are instantaneously and necessarily better than that person. Because the WORST thing a human can do is to judge another human. Jesus said so. Buddha said so. All the best ones said so.

I have this friend, Shauna. Shauna had her baby girl two months before I had my baby boy. Something about Shauna: She does EVERYTHING. Makes her own yogurt. Travels internationally for her job. Sends out Thank You Cards. WITH THOUGHTFUL MESSAGES IN THEM. ON TIME. All kinds of things I never do. If ever there were a human whose very existence could make someone feel inferior, it is Shauna.

Something else about Shauna: Not a judger. In fact, she says what she loves most about me is "how unapologetically RACHEL I am". What that means is that, among other worse things, last year our Christmas Cards turned out to be New Years Cards, and I've never sent a Thank You Card in my life. And it has nothing to do with trees, despite what I still might tell you if you confronted me on the matter.

Now. The whole Thank You Card failure had always been a source of shame for me. I felt exactly how the ever so wise Glennon Doyle Melton described it in her liberating Facebook post in which she admitted the very same failure. And it got me thinking.

What power OWNERSHIP carries.

I own just about every other failure of mine. Because I really believe I do the best I can, given my priorities. And I'm strangely confident that my priorities are in order. (Right there is where the Thank You Card shame happened, because showing gratitude is high on my list. And somehow the paper industry fooled me into believing that the only expressions of gratitude that count are written ones?)

For whatever reason, I'm lucky enough that deep down in my soul, I believe that MY BEST is ENOUGH. How long I research something. How I analyze the research. My eventual decision. All of it. If it's my best, it's enough.

But I know. Some mamas are thinner-skinned. And looking at your skin and telling it to grow thicker never seems to work. And this is why I see so many NICE mamas keeping information from other mamas, in case it might be offensive. In case it might be interpreted as a battle in this thing that's become known as MOMMY WARS.

But I think the worst thing we can collectively do is to tell a thin-skinned mama that she should be so ashamed of DOING SOMETHING 'WRONG' that discussing it is off limits. Acceptance and hiding do not mix. I find the movement to end discourse on all mama choices and decisions downright scary.

My co-worker once mentioned that she fed her six month old oatmeal.

About that. NOT A BIG DEAL. I have no allergies and a super immune system, and my mom did the same thing with me. BUT. I recently read how the amylase in grains can't be broken down until 12 months and too much of it can cause the gut to leak, resulting in digestion problems and/or allergies. POSSIBLE. It was enough for me to hold off on grains until now that Finley is a year old. But I didn't tell Heidi about it.

HEIDI ISN'T EVEN THIN-SKINNED. And she knows I'm not a jack hole so she knows I wouldn't judge her. I TOTALLY COULD HAVE TOLD HER. But I've been so inundated by this STOP MOMMY WARS propaganda that I had what can only be described as some kind of brain lapse, and couldn't think of a non-awkward way to tell her.

Now if Zoey develops a gluten intolerance, IT WILL BE MY FAULT.

And that's what I don't like about the War on Mommy Wars. Information spreading is, like, a civilian casualty. And that's why I would like it to stop.

And I don't think that the War on Mommy Wars is particularly effective anyway.

And here's why. Yelling at the haters not to hate will NEVER end the Mommy Wars. (IT'S JUST WHAT THEY DO, after all.) In fact, YELLING is like Hater Oxygen. But we suffocate them, and Mommy Wars, by not giving a sh*t. So very simple. We let the judgers judge as long as they want. We just stop giving a sh*t.

Who knows. Maybe they'll keep judging forever even if we stop giving a sh*t. But, you know what? WE WON'T GIVE A SH*T.

So. A quick How To on Not Giving A Sh*t: OWN YOUR DECISIONS. As mamas, we DO HARD THINGS all day, er'ry day. That, and being human, means WE DON'T HAVE TO DO ALL THE RIGHT THINGS.

But we still need information, for when we CAN and WANT TO do them.

I've seen a few mamas willing to provide information with the disclaimer that we all know what's best for our children. Well. That's certainly possible and definitely true sometimes. I actually thought about taking that route when I had the chance to tell Heidi about the oatmeal. But in my head it sounded at least seventy percent absurd.

Because when I read that thing about the grains, it became clear to me that up until that point, I didn't know what was best for Finley in terms of feeding him or not feeding him grains. Who knows. Maybe if I lived on a prairie in the good old days with only my female family members helping me figure out what the eff I was doing, back when grains weren't processed for us in convenient pouches and whatnot, maybe then I would have "known best". But in good old 2013, all signs were pointing to "Feed Finley Oatmeal". So, no. I didn't know best.

Actually, there was a lot of sh*t I didn't know as a first time mom. I figured some sh*t out. I probably definitely did some sh*t wrong. So, I'm sorry if all the other mamas like the you-always-know-what's-best-for-Johnny reassurance. But I hate it. It seems patronizing. SOMETIMES I know what's best for Johnny Finley. BUT SOMETIMES I DON'T AND WE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO SUGARCOAT THAT SH*T. Because sugarcoated sh*t is even worse than regular sh*t. I think.

And guess what. Sometimes I know what's best and I STILL DON'T DO IT. I DON'T CLOTH DIAPER. I had G Diapers all lined up and ready to go for the long haul, but the f*ckers leaked. I Googled and read their blog and tried this and tried that, but the f*ckers leaked. For months and months, the f*ckers leaked. Every size, every time, the f*ckers leaked. And in the Great Financial Adjustment of 2013, we never saved up a big enough chunk to invest in another expensive and potential leaky cloth diapering system. Likewise, in the Great Time Adjustment of 2013, we never had enough time to research which would be the next 'best' option.

BUT. If someone came along and fed me the red pill and told me exactly how offensive this is to the earth, I wouldn't spit it out, cry, and feel like a failure for what I've done. I would admit that I enjoyed living in the Matrix thus far, swallow the darn pill, give up some burrito nights and time on Pinterest, and actually get on the ball before Finley's potty trained.

And you're right. I'm not seeking out the red pill. I'm owning the hell out of that decision, too. And I'm not even defending why. Some mamas will understand. Others will judge. And I won't give a sh*t.