It’s literally impossible to be a mother.

It kills me to see you try so hard, and care so much, and that you still don’t think you’re good enough.

Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be nurturing but not coddling, present, but not a helicopter parent, involved, but not smothering. You have to do everything for them, but not so they’re entitled. You can’t yell, but you have to make them listen, you have to gentle parent and keep them off screens, but also not let them cause a scene in a restaurant.

You have to breastfeed, but not for too long, or where anyone might see – you have to be a good mother and a good girl, and a good feminist, too. You have to put your baby down and let cry it out or you’ll make a rod for your own back, AND you have to lie with them until they go to sleep, AND get in your own 8 hours a night because you have to NOT do the school run in pyjamas, or with bags under your eyes, and it’s just a matter of sticking to a routine, but you should be baby-led.

You have to treasure every moment, even when there is screaming, and other people’s bodily fluids, and BOREDOM, and acting out the same play-scene on repeat, watching the same show, listening to the same Minecraft details, over and over and over again. You can’t complain about it being hard because if you do, you’re ungrateful, but if you’re not self-deprecating enough you’re smug, or a martyr, or some hybrid of the two – smartyr.

Only you’re not smarter, at all, because you’re so damn TIRED, like all the time, and your brain doesn’t work how it used to – but you can’t let the patriarchy know, because you still have to smash the glass ceilings for the sisterhood. You have to set a good example for your daughters, and chase the promotions and deliver the targets – and don’t, whatever you do, let down the team, or snap, or be BOSSY. But you DO have to be a boss, you just have to do it in a caring way – but also don’t show your emotions at work because that’s icky and unprofessional.

You have to love being a mother, but you have to love your career, too. You have to 9 to 5 but you have to be a stay at home mum, do the school runs, and the doctor and dentist appointments, the after school clubs, the interminable Saturday mornings at the pitch side and afternoons at endless soft-play parties, and keep everyone’s schedule, and keep up with the bombardment of school emails and events, and keep up with the infinite washing pile, and keep house – but not like a show home because your kids won’t be having fun there, but also not like a sloven because it’s gross and unhealthy, and make delicious, nutritious meals that everyone will eat, but not serve freezer food and not encouraging fussiness – and somehow fit all that into a 24 hour day and a 44 year-old human mind.

You have to maintain successful friendships, and go out on the town, despite being exhausted, but not talk about the kids all the time, even though they’re supposed to be your world, but not too much of it. You have to be an earth mother but you have to be a MILF, keep it classy and be natural, but not let yourself go, but also not be fake, or care TOO much about your appearance – because if you do you’re vain, or a cougar, or desperate – or asking for it. Still.

You have to be the perfect mother and you have to be the perfect partner. You have to pay attention to your relationship, do date nights, and keep the magic alive. You have to enjoy an active sex life, and you have to not talk about how it’s changed, or prolapses, or dryness – or not having really felt like it since 2017. You have to never NEED any help, but if you do, you have ask your your spouse for help/housework foreplay, because how is he supposed to know about it otherwise? And you have to do it in a way that doesn’t blame him, nag him, or make him feel bad.

You have to be strong – in the right way – but you also have to be vulnerable in the right way. You have to be real about mental health but definitely not in a way where you’re actually not keeping it together. You have to pretty cry. You have to let the next generation see your struggles so it’s not such a god awful surprise for THEM when they get here, too, but still make it all seem rewarding enough they don’t run screaming for the hills/hysterectomies.

You have to sacrifice, but without being diminished. You have to come last because your children come first, when it comes to career, food, sleep, meals, or just going to the bloody toilet, last in line, busting, with a wobbly pelvic floor you’re meant to be exercising four times a day without raising your eyebrows, because that means you’re not doing it right, and also causes wrinkles and you have to be smooth and never age. You also have to come FIRST, and prioritise grooming, and a gym routine and self care – because you can’t pour from an empty cup. Particularly an ugly, hairy, lined or overweight one.

You have to smile, even when it hurts. Even when you are the broken Weird Barbie. Stuck in your own, internal splits trying to do it all, please them all, get through another day.

You have to never get old, never be fat, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never show fear, never show anger, never lose control, never get out of line.

It’s too hard. It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you.

And it turns out, in fact, that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault in the first place.

You asked for this.

[An adaptation in honour of Barbie, this page’s cover girl, and the brilliant speech delivered by the also brilliant America Ferrera]