I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night — though my son does.

How ironic, right?

But that’s my life now. The life of a worrying, emotional, stressed-out working mom.

I never imagined raising a child would be this challenging. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think it was going to be easy, either. But I thought I would be spending lazy days at the beach with the kid, camping on weekends, relaxing on the deck with a glass of wine while he, I don’t know, played nicely by himself.

(Cue the laughter from all the moms out there.)

While my son is a very easy kid — he practically puts himself to sleep every night and says, “Bye bye,” from his crib to get me to leave the room — raising him is tough. There’s food to make, naps to schedule, books to read, clothes to wash (I still don’t get how such a small human adds so much more laundry), supplies to buy, new songs to sing, ailments to Google and worry about. He gets bored so easily now, so I’m constantly trying to come up with new things to do using everything from empty diaper boxes to kitchen utensils. It’s exhausting.

You would think two years into this I’d be more of an expert, but I still feel like I did last year around this time: Like I know nothing.

I find myself comparing my experience with other moms on social media. How did she take a 1-year-old to Paris? How do they go camping with two kids and three dogs? How did she lose all that baby weight in two months? Honestly, it’s a dangerous vortex to get sucked into, and I’m trying to avoid it these days as much as possible. My life is hardly Instagrammable. I wear the same combination of tank tops and shorts every week, sometimes without washing them. My hair is so unmanageable the last time I saw my stylist he winced. And I can’t blame my armpit boobs on breastfeeding anymore.

This is motherhood, man. And it’s scary.

I never feel like I’m doing this right, either. I still haven’t finished his baby book — and he’s my only child, so there’s really no excuse. I keep forgetting to mark his height on the door frame. I get lazy and microwave chicken nuggets for him more often than I’d like to admit. I’m terrified of taking him on overnight trips. I’m late on preschool applications. I’m not saving nearly enough money for his future (let alone my own). I’m already failing at this and I’ve got at least 16 more years to go!

So what do I do about it? Pour myself a glass of wine, use Google as a parenting tool and stay up all night worrying about this stuff.

While the kid sleeps, of course.