As the days heat up and we rapidly approach the official start of summer (see: the crown of frizz now living along my hairline), I’ve stumbled across parents who are dead set against their daughters wearing bikinis. As a girl mom and a woman, I was intrigued. Is belly flesh really that scandalous? What makes bikinis so different and so much less appropriate than their one-piece counterparts? I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it, but I needed to. The deeper I dug, though, the more pissed off I got.

The basic motivation behind a bikini ban is good: parents (usually fathers) feel they are in some way protecting their daughters by not allowing them to show their bellies. Now, I can totally get behind the idea of protecting my babies. There is no mama bear fiercer than I am. But can we take a second to acknowledge how completely fucked up that logic is?

Some women feel like they’re ready. Others try for years before they get pregnant or before an adoption becomes final. None of these were my experience. In fact, I couldn’t have been less ready or more surprised to become a mom.

Here’s the thing though: we all have completely different, one hundred percent unique experiences when it comes to becoming a mother.

Somehow though, we’re always fed the same narrative:

Girl meets man of her dreams.

Man pops the question.

Girl gets married.

Girl gets pregnant.

Girl, man and child live happily ever after. The end.

But life doesn’t follow a script. In fact, it doesn’t give a shit about your script. Your script is actually a fantasy and life will do whatever the hell it wants with you. It’s your job to roll with the punches.

It’s just really scary to roll with the punches when that punch happens to be a brand new life that you’re in charge of.

I’m sharing my story of becoming a mom (and all of the fears that went along with it) on Glamamom today. If you like it, please share it—especially with new or soon-to-be moms who might not realize we were all terrified once.

What scared (or scares) you about becoming a mom?

I’m not going to lie to you. This election has jarred me. I have so many feelings that I’m not sure what to do with. If you’re already rolling your eyes and wishing I’d accept things, move on, and stop whining, you might want to skip this post. I won’t be mad at you and I hope you won’t be mad at me. Because sometimes I need to sort out my feelings in the best way I know how: writing them down.

There are so many feelings swirling around my unsettled guts that I honestly don’t even know where to start.

Today was school picture day for the girls. I took what I consider a totally non-traditional approach to the whole thing. I think the technical term for it would be the Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That Shit Approach. It’s kind of my signature approach lately. I’m thinking of getting it trademarked.

I think it started with a text I got from another momma alerting me to the insane price gouging on the photo packages (which reminded me of this hilarious meme I shared on Facebook a couple of weeks ago). School picture prices are totally out of control—especially when I can guarantee that at least one out of two daughters will have no interest in being fake happy for a stranger.

But, maybe even more importantly, how much worth am I actually going to assign to a stuffy, sure-to-be-awkward photo five years from now? Sure, it might be giggle worthy. But will it really tell me anything about my daughter’s personality when a stranger combs her hair the way he or she sees fit and then spends roughly ten seconds with her before moving on to the next kid in line?

For the first time, my ten year old is really interested in the presidential election. She’s asking more questions, trying to figure out how everything works, and she’s been begging to watch a debate to see and understand things for herself. This girl has always been a sponge, so it comes as no surprise that she wants to soak things up for herself. But this time, it makes me so sad. I usually encourage her to go out and ask questions and find out as much information as she can. I cannot do that with good conscience in this election.

I couldn’t let her watch the debate because I was terrified of what she would hear.