Sanctimommy? Yes. In the same tradition of fleek (who/what in the holy hell is fleek anyway?) to the millennial vernacular, Sanctimommy has crept into the common nomenclature of motherhood. You know her. She’s the hyper-vigilant wench who posts public service announcements to her “mommy friends” on Facebook.
Attention Mommy Friends: Please read this article about how to properly install your car seat. Don’t allow your child to forward-face before they’re 2 years of age or have met the allowed height and weight requirement. They will die. It will be your fault.
She’s that special someone you’d like to twat-punch at mommy & me class.
We had a natural birth at home without any medical intervention. I felt like such a goddess. You got an epidural? So what disorder did your child subsequently develop?
She’s your conceited co-worker.
We believe in sharing the family bed with our children. Sleep training your child is a form of abuse.
She’s the perfect picture of pretension in your play group.
Next time it’s your turn to host the play date, could you make sure that your snacks are organic, GMO-free, gluten-free, and hormone-free? My child could develop a terminal illness from continued exposure to your conventional snack foods.
She’s your asshole of a cousin that pulls you aside at her child’s birthday party.
Awwww, you’re so sweet for giving her that Elmo puzzle, but she doesn’t know who Elmo is. We don’t believe in letting her watch television programming. It’s just lazy parenting.
She’s an oversharing stranger in the pediatrician’s waiting room.
We don’t believe in telling him ‘no.’ We like to create a ‘yes’ environment. Harsh discipline breeds violence. We prefer that he not turn into a sociopath.
She’s your friend; your friend who singlehandedly brought on your current bout with depression.
Oh, bless your heart. If you can’t exclusively breastfeed your child, you should just go ahead and give them up for adoption so someone can actually love them.
I told you. You totally know her. And you totally want to throw a haymaker into her jaw.
That said, here’s some truth for you: we’ve all got a little Sanctimommy deep inside.
I certainly do. If you offer my child a fast-food chicken nugget, I have a panic attack. I’m not embellishing. I start to sweat. I become disoriented and nauseated. I get tunnel vision. My blood pressure skyrockets. But that’s where it ends.
If you’re showing kindness to my child by offering her food, she will probably choose to take it, and I will tell her to say ‘thank you.’ It doesn’t matter what the food substance may be. I will not vocalize my opinion unless I was specifically asked for it. It’s rude. No one likes a rude bitch.
There are going to be choices that you make for your child that will affect you profoundly. You will, in turn, have a profound opinion about those choices. But there is no other parent like you. There is no other child like your child. What works for you will not work for everyone. There is no exception to the rule. It will never work for everyone. So for the love of all that is good in this world, SHUT YOUR SENSELESS MOUTH.
I have this theory that the Sanctimommies of today were the hand-raising girls in high school. They had an opinion about everything.
*arm flailing in the air* Um, Mrs. Jones, I think you should use a semi-colon there, not an ellipsis. An ellipsis feels too informal.
Everyone wanted her to choke on her words then, and everyone wants her to choke on them now.
So do us all a favor, Sanctimommies…
Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.