Tell a mama that one day she'll use the bathroom alone. That she won't always have to play referee or answer nonstop questions or entertain from the porcelain throne. Tell her that one day, taking a minute to shower will no longer feel like taking a risk. That before long, she'll pull back the shower curtain to find that all is (still) in order and no one is screaming.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day her kids won't cry out as soon as she settles into bed. Tell her that everyone will sleep through the night. Tell a mama that one day she'll reclaim her brain. That it won't always be cluttered with feeding schedules and nap schedules and school schedules and every single need and desire of her children.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day she'll wake up without immediately having to strip bedding and wash wet sheets. Tell her that beds will stay dry and last night's bath will be sufficient. Tell a mama that one day, her kids will dress themselves and comb their hair and pack their lunches, and frantic searches for missing shoes and backpacks will be a memory.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day her kids will willingly sit down and eat their food – all of it. That she'll have actual conversations with them around the dinner table, instead of just repeating “sit down, stop talking, and eat” over and over in response to their nonsensical chatter and constant motion. Tell a mama that one day meal time will be enjoyable instead of exhausting.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day she'll sit down, uninterrupted, for a full five minutes. That as soon as she rests her weary body on the closest piece of furniture, someone won't bombard her with requests and demands. Tell a mama that one day her attempts at rest won't result in bickering and destruction, but instead actual relaxation.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day her kids will use the toilet – every time. That everything that should go in the toilet, will, and that they'll then flush – every time. Tell her that one day, they'll wipe by themselves and she'll no longer find toilet paper stuffed in the sink drain or discover attempts to flush an entire roll down the toilet.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day “family fun” will actually be fun. That a few hours away from the house won't require a carload of supplies. Tell her that her kids will have happy memories of time together as a family, even when that time involved nothing but whining, crying, and complaining. Tell her that it matters even when it doesn't seem like it.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

Tell a mama that one day her kids will shower and brush their teeth without melting down. That they'll appreciate good hygiene. Tell her that they'll eventually do their own laundry and stop leaving dirty socks around the house, even if it's not until they're 30. Tell her that this parenting gig will pay off when her kids can take care of themselves, even though they'll still need her.

But don't tell her to enjoy every moment of the days leading up to “one day,” because that just burdens her with unnecessary guilt.

So tell a mama that you can see how much she loves her kids, even when she doesn't live up to that impossible expectation of enjoying every moment – tell her that no one does. Not one. Ever. And tell her that you know it's hard, even defeating, but that her hard work and all that love won't be wasted.

This post was originally published here. Be sure to follow Jenny on Facebook for more on her incomplete family and imperfect motherhood.