When should I stop listening to smutty fantasy (read: raunchy sex scenes) in the car with my toddler in the backseat? 

Asking for a friend. 

A friend who recently said “Ah sh*t” in front of her kiddo when she banged her toe into her coffee table and then he immediately started chanting “Mommy ah sht, mommy ah sh*t” like it was the chorus to the new season of Bluey.

(Spoiler: The friend is me. Obviously.)

So yeah. It seems we’ve officially entered the “watch your mouth, the tiny echo is always listening” phase of parenting. Gone are the days of muttering frustrations under my breath or having unfiltered phone calls with my sister on [very loud] speaker.

Now, there’s a little parrot soaking up everything. It’s funny (and slightly terrifying) how quickly they start mimicking us. The way they stand with their hands on their hips just like you do, the exact sigh you let out when you see the couch covered in dirt from two high-energy dogs during mud season, and yes, even the occasional (or not so occasional) accidentally-uttered swear word.

They copy us because they love us, because they look up to us, because that’s how they learn about the world. It’s their primary way of figuring things out – see what Mom or Dad does, try it out themselves.

And it got me thinking about how this copying, comparing, and mimicking plays out beyond just toddlerhood swear words.

As adults, especially as mothers navigating this wild journey, we do the same thing. We look around at other moms, at Pinterest boards, at Instagram feeds, at TikTok tips, and we naturally start comparing. We see someone else’s seemingly serene family dinner, their kid mastering potty training at lightning speed, their impeccably organized playroom, or their ability to somehow look effortlessly chic on three hours of sleep, and we start to measure ourselves against it.

And inspiration is helpful! Seeing a cool sensory bin idea or getting a tip for handling tantrums can be genuinely useful.

But there’s a super fine line, isn’t there? A slippery slope between inspiration and imitation that quickly slides into the comparison pit. Between “Oh, that’s a neat way to organize a million tractors, maybe I’ll try that bin system?” and “Ugh, my house is never that clean, her kids seem so much calmer and actually sleep through the night, I must be doing something wrong…”

It’s the comparison trap. And man, does it sneak up on you in motherhood. Suddenly, instead of feeling connected or finding helpful ideas, you just feel… less than. You start doubting your own parenting instincts, your choices about screen time or food dyes in snacks, the way your family operates. You start thinking maybe your “swear words” – the quirks, the messy realities, the unique rhythm of your family – aren’t right because they don’t look like the curated highlight reel you see everywhere else.

It’s like needing to put a mental censor on, not just for the words coming out of our mouths around our kids, but for the constant influx of comparison triggers we let into our heads. Filtering the noise, the “shoulds,” the endless stream of advice and picture-perfect moments that make us question if we’re getting it right.

Because here’s the thing: Your way is the right way for your family. The way you navigate the tantrums and the triumphs, the way you connect with your kids, the specific brand of beautiful chaos that defines your home during this season of life – that’s what’s real and valuable. That’s your magic.

This messy, unpredictable, exhausting, wonderful season of life? It’s uniquely yours. It flashes by so fast, and honestly, it deserves to be seen and remembered exactly as it is – not as some imitation of someone else’s life, but in all its authentic glory. (Which, not coincidentally, is exactly what I love capturing for families like yours – the real smiles, the genuine connections, the perfectly imperfect moments.)

So let’s take inspiration where we find it, let’s learn from each other. But let’s also fiercely protect our own intuition and sanity. Let’s filter the input, be mindful of the comparison creep, and remember that the goal isn’t to replicate someone else’s family photo.

It’s about embracing and celebrating our own story, one beautifully messy, perfectly imperfect day at a time.

Even if that occasionally involves a toddler gleefully shouting “ah sh*t”.

Just, you know, maybe I’ll try to save stubbing my toe for after bedtime from now on. Lesson learned.

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