Things I Said I’d Never Do as a Mom (Spoiler: I Do Them All)

Before I became a mom, I had a very clear idea of the kind of parent I would be. I also had no actual children. It turns out that’s a crucial detail.

Back then, I was confident, idealistic, and adorably naïve. I’d look at moms bribing kids with snacks in the grocery store, or letting their toddler watch an iPad at a restaurant, and think to myself, “Not me. I will never do that.”

Fast forward to today. I’m currently hiding in the bathroom, whisper-yelling “Just one more minute!” while my kid eats mini muffins for dinner and watches a show I swore I’d never allow.

So, in the spirit of honesty and solidarity, here’s a list of all the things I swore I’d never do as a mom… and now do regularly, with minimal shame and a dash of caffeine.

1. Use Screens as a Babysitter

Then:
“I will never hand my child an iPad just to get things done. Children should play with wooden toys and entertain themselves for hours with imaginative games involving felt animals and organic building blocks.”

Now:
“Here’s the tablet. It’s charged. Please watch something educational—or not. Just… let me finish this one email, or shower, or breathe.”

The first time I used screen time to survive a Zoom call, it felt like a slippery slope. By day three, it was a water slide. Now, I consider screen time a third caregiver in the house. I still try to monitor what they watch (mostly), but when the house is on fire (metaphorically), you hand the kid a screen and thank the Wi-Fi gods.

2. Bribe My Child

Then:
“I won’t bribe my child. I’ll raise them to listen out of mutual respect.”

Now:
“If you put your shoes on right now, I will give you a cookie. Two cookies if you don’t cry.”

Bribery is just parenting with incentives. Negotiation is a skill, right? I like to think I’m preparing them for corporate life.

The first time I bribed my kid to behave in public, I felt mildly guilty. By the tenth time, I was packing candy in my purse like a Vegas magician preparing for a show.

3. Let My Kids Eat Junk

Then:
“My children will eat fresh vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins. No sugar until age five.”

Now:
“This dinner consists of buttered noodles, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, and ketchup. Which is technically a vegetable, if you squint.”

I still try to offer vegetables. I put carrots on the plate. They are never touched, but I offered, and that’s the moral high ground I cling to.

Some days, the only thing keeping the peace is a lollipop and a juice box. And you know what? Peace is worth it.

4. Raise My Voice

Then:
“I will never yell at my child. I will speak calmly and teach emotional regulation through example.”

Now:
“GET. YOUR. SHOES. ON.”

I didn’t mean to become a yeller. I truly didn’t. But something about being ignored for the 14th time while asking someone to put socks on just unlocks something primal.

I try to apologize afterward. We talk it through. I tell them I’m working on using a calm voice. But some days, I lose it, and the only thing louder than my regret is my child screaming back at me with the same energy.

5. Let the House Go

Then:
“My house won’t become one of those chaotic homes. I’ll stay organized, minimalist, clean.”

Now:
My couch is covered in clean laundry that’s been waiting to be folded for a week. The floor has cracker dust embedded into the rug. There’s a suspicious stickiness on the kitchen counter I can’t identify and have stopped questioning.

The house is lived in. Deeply, visibly lived in. We own way too many toys, and at least 75% of them make noise. I have officially given up on matching socks. Every drawer is a junk drawer now.

And you know what? It’s fine. We’re fed. We’re loved. The rest is background noise. Loud, messy background noise.

6. Let My Kid Sleep in My Bed

Then:
“Our child will sleep in their own room from day one. We believe in fostering independence.”

Now:
We are co-sleeping professionals. There are nights when the entire family is squeezed into one bed like human Tetris, and I’m hanging off the edge with a tiny foot in my kidney.

I tried the crib. I tried the sleep training. I read the books. But then life happened. Teeth, fevers, nightmares, regressions. And after a few months of sleep deprivation, I caved. Now I treasure the cuddles and consider my personal space a sacrifice to the sleep gods.

7. Leave the House Looking Like a Mess

Then:
“I’ll never be the mom at school drop-off in pajamas or messy hair. I’ll take care of myself.”

Now:
I am the mother of the messy bun and oversized hoodie. I have left the house wearing two different shoes. I have gone to Target with stickers on my butt and a Paw Patrol Band-Aid on my arm that I didn’t realize was there.

Self-care is important, but some days the priority is simply getting everyone out the door alive. Bonus points if no one is crying (including me).

8. Use My Phone Around My Kids

Then:
“I want to be fully present with my child. No phones during playtime.”

Now:
I am answering work emails while pushing a swing. I am Googling “what to do when your toddler eats sand” while my toddler eats more sand.

Sometimes my phone is my only link to adult conversation, to news, to sanity. I still try to set it aside and be present, but let’s be honest—sometimes my kid spends 30 minutes pretending to be a rock, and I scroll while keeping one eye open for danger.

9. Make Empty Threats

Then:
“I’ll never say things I don’t mean. Follow-through is key to discipline.”

Now:
“If you don’t put your toys away, I’m throwing them all in the trash.”

I’m not throwing them in the trash. I spent money on them. Some of them were gifts. One was part of a set I can’t even find anymore.

I say it anyway, and we both know it’s a bluff. But every once in a while, I follow through just enough to keep the illusion alive.

10. Compare My Kids to Others

Then:
“Every child develops at their own pace. I will celebrate my child for who they are.”

Now:
“Wait, your kid was potty trained at 18 months??”

It’s not intentional. Comparison creeps in. It’s human. Especially when other kids seem to be sleeping through the night, eating kale, and speaking fluent Spanish while mine is still using a sippy cup like a wild raccoon.

I remind myself that social media is a highlight reel and every kid is on their own path. But sometimes, in the middle of a meltdown, it’s hard not to wonder if I’m the only one who’s barely holding it together.

11. Say “Because I Said So”

Then:
“I will explain things. I will foster communication.”

Now:
“Because. I. Said. So.”

Sometimes, there’s no time for a TED Talk on why wearing shoes is necessary or why we can’t go to the park at bedtime. Sometimes, I’m just done explaining. And yes, it’s a cliché. But it’s effective. And it works in emergencies.

I still try to talk through big feelings and explain the world. But let’s be real: not everything requires a 15-minute discussion. Sometimes it’s just “because I said so,” full stop.

12. Wish Time Away

Then:
“I’ll savor every moment. It goes by so fast!”

Now:
Is it bedtime yet?

Some days feel like years. The tantrums, the chaos, the sheer mental exhaustion of parenting—especially in the early years—can make you wish for time to speed up. You long for the next phase, the next milestone, the return of some semblance of personal freedom.

And then they fall asleep in your lap, or say something adorably mispronounced, and your heart breaks a little because you know one day you’ll miss this. Even the hard parts.

The Big Truth

So yes, I’ve done all the things I said I’d never do. Every single one.

I’ve bribed, yelled, cried in the car, let them eat snacks for dinner, let them fall asleep in front of a screen, and fed them cookies while silently judging my pre-mom self.

But here’s the twist: I’m still a good mom.

Motherhood isn’t about perfection. It’s about surviving, adapting, loving fiercely, and showing up every single day—messy, flawed, tired, but there.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned? Never say never. That version of me, before kids, didn’t know the depth of exhaustion or the size of the love. She didn’t know that sometimes, survival is success.