Hot Take: “Cherish Every Moment” Is Bullshit
Let me get right to it: this whole “cherish every moment” parenting mantra? It’s nonsense. Absolute industrial-grade, Instagram-filtered crap. You know it. I know it. And yet, every time you blink, here comes another unsolicited post, relative, or mug telling you to savor every sticky, tantrum-filled second of your life like some delusional time-hoarding squirrel.
Can we not?
Normalize: Some Moments Suck
Look, you’re allowed to have days—hell, weeks—when your main achievement is not hurling yourself into the bush at pickup. Kids are great and hilarious and all manner of sentimental, but some moments are just straight up *not* cherishable. That’s just honest. Not every meltdown, floor Cheerio, or car tantrum needs to be scrapbooked, okay?
Normal people don’t chronicle the magic of wrangling a mini-dictator into socks. You don’t have to love it. You don’t have to even fucking like it. Laugh about it later, maybe—but in the moment? Permission to mentally check out and stare at a wall. That’s survival.
Reframe: Dump the Guilt Garbage
Here’s the setup-and-spike of parenting guilt: you’re told to “cherish every moment,” but then life throws you a kid with a stomach bug who projectile vomits in your lap at 3am. Someone please tell me what’s to cherish there.
You know what’s actually worth cherishing? The fact that you hung in. You changed the sheets, threw stuff in the wash, and probably swore under your breath about the universe’s sense of humor. That’s not Instagram, that’s *real*. That deserves some damn respect, not shame because you weren’t spiritually glowing while knee-deep in bodily fluids.
It’s okay if every day isn’t a golden memory. There’s nothing broken in you. You’re just a person, raising a loud smaller person, in a world that sets unfair benchmarks and slings guilt like it’s confetti at a parade.
The Calm, Sweet Release
So here’s your Fuck It Friday permission slip: when some cheery psycho tells you to “cherish every moment,” you can absolutely ignore them. Roll your eyes. Store it in your “not my problem” file.
Save your energy for moments that actually mean something—to *you*. The joke you share. The rare, bizarre silence. The weird face your kid makes while holding a chicken nugget. Forget the rest.
No one “cherishes” everything. No one enjoys every second. And there’s zero shame in remembering that most real-life parenting is just trying to keep your shoes dry and your coffee hot for once.
You’re doing fine. Fuck the forced magic. Embrace the ordinary mayhem instead.
See you next Friday, unless I run off to live under a blanket fort.
The Potty Mouth Panda 