Forget Flowers—This Is the Best Mother’s Day Gift for Tired Moms

This week’s question from The Burnout Recovery Workbook for Moms hits hard. It’s not just a writing prompt—it’s a wake-up call that reminds us there’s still a whole woman under the pickup schedules and midnight wakeups. A woman with wants, energy, and identity.

And it’s also the perfect blueprint for Mother’s Day. Breakfast in bed is cute. Handmade cards are sweet. But what do moms really want? One damn day where they’re not “Mom” first. Just one pre-mom day to breathe, be, and remember who the hell they are. No planning. No packing. No guilt.

So here is my unapologetic, fantasy-level breakdown of how I’d spend a day in my pre-mom life. Because most moms don’t get breaks like this when there’s no one around to take over, even for a day. No one’s coming, and the cost of doing it all without a support system is heavier than anyone wants to admit. Even Psychology Today recognizes the unrealistic parental pressures.

If I could spend a day in my pre-mom life, what would I do?

8:47 a.m. – Wake Up… On My Own Terms

No one screamed. No one kicked me in the face at 3:14 a.m. I didn’t have to plan my whole day before my eyes were fully open. I just… woke up. Naturally. In my bed. I probably forgot how to sleep past 9 a.m., but who cares?

• No monitor.

• No internal screaming.

• Just beautiful, eerie silence.

I stretch like a house cat. I languish. I scroll my phone without guilt. I read an article—an entire article—that isn’t about toddler poop or screen time limits. Just some adult stuff. For me.

9:30 a.m. – Hot Coffee and Breakfast I Actually Enjoy

I walk—no, glide—into my kitchen and make coffee. In a glass mug that I will not microwave three times. I drink it hot, sitting down, while eating a breakfast that doesn’t come from a pouch or require cutting into toddler-safe shapes.

No one is crying because their banana “broke.” No one is climbing me like I’m a jungle gym. It’s just me, some eggs, and silence. I might even put on music with adult lyrics. Hell, let’s throw in some profanity. I’ve earned it.

11:00 a.m. – Go Somewhere. With Nothing.

I decide to go out. Where? Doesn’t matter. What matters is what I don’t do:

• I don’t pack a diaper bag.

• I don’t time my departure around anyone else’s needs.

• I don’t make backup plans for meltdowns, skipped naps, or emergency snacks.

• I don’t even think about the logistics of leaving the house.

I grab my keys and go. Purse: light. Spirit: lighter. This must be what men feel like all the time.

12:30 p.m. – Eat Lunch. Slowly. Seated. With Both Hands.

I eat a meal I didn’t cook, cut up, or coax into someone’s mouth. I don’t rush. I don’t share bites off my plate. I use both hands. I even—brace yourself—order an appetizer. For me. Just because I can.

There’s no one under the table. No one asking what that is and if they can have it. No spilled milk. No high chairs. Just peace, maybe a friend, and hot food.

2:00 p.m. – Do Something Completely Useless. And Love It.

• I might go window shopping.

• Maybe I’ll go to a rated R movie.

• Maybe I’ll get my nails done.

• Maybe I’ll take a nap.

The point is, I’ll do something that serves no one but me—and I won’t feel guilty about it. We’ve been conditioned to feel like every second should be spent enriching our kids’ lives—but sometimes the most enriching thing is letting ourselves off the damn hook. There’s a cost to constant hands-on parenting.

4:00 p.m. – Pee Alone

This gets its own section because it’s sacred. I go to the bathroom. Alone. The door is closed. No one is banging on it or crawling under it or asking existential questions while I’m mid-wipe. It’s just me and the silence. Honestly, I might sit an extra minute just because I can.

6:00 p.m. – Dinner With Friends. Real Ones. With Adult Conversations and Strong Drinks

I meet up with friends. We go to a restaurant where no one is serving nuggets in a basket shaped like a dinosaur. We order cocktails, not juice boxes. We eat spicy food, decadent food, food that would be flat-out rejected by our children on sight.

We talk about everything and nothing. No one interrupts. No one needs us to cut their food. We laugh loud, linger long, and speak in full, uninterrupted sentences. It’s not just dinner—it’s soul food.

8:00 p.m. – Netflix, Nostalgia, and Maybe a Little Weed

I’m back home, shoes off, bra flung across the room like the freedom flag it is. I queue up something trashy and wonderful. I just chill—in the old sense of the word. Maybe I even light up something green and legal (don’t worry, I’m not the only cannamom). It’s not about escaping—it’s about remembering I used to be fun in a way that didn’t involve knowing the lines to every Bluey episode.

This is the grown-up version of those wild nights out: quiet, calm, maybe a little stoned, and deeply satisfying. Honestly, parenting has turned me into a whole new version of myself—but that former party girl still shows up now and then, just… repurposed. Read how I flipped my former party lifestyle into full-blown parenting survival mode here.

12:30 a.m. – Fall Asleep Without Anxiety

No mental inventory of tomorrow’s schedule. No dread about someone waking up sick. No emotional exhaustion from being everyone’s everything. Just rest.

The Perfect Gift for Mom That She Actually Wants (But Won’t Ask For)

Here’s the wild part: this whole dream day? It’s not just fantasy fodder—it’s the perfect Mother’s Day gift. Or birthday gift. Or random Tuesday “thanks for keeping everyone alive” gift. And no, it doesn’t come in a box or with a bow. It comes with silence, space, and a full reset.

Because no one tells you when you become a mom:

The job is never off.

You don’t clock out.

You don’t get sick days.

You are on—physically, emotionally, and mentally—every minute, every hour, every damn day. Giving her just one day to be her whole self again? That’s not selfish. That’s sacred.

It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her kids. It means she’s human. And she needs space, autonomy, and maybe even a little peace. That’s the real secret to not losing your mind as a parent—and this kind of day delivers exactly that.

When she gets to step away, just for a breath, she comes back lighter. Recharged. More herself. Which is the best thing for everyone—especially the tiny humans who depend on her.

So, if you’re wondering what to get the mom in your life? Skip the flowers. Give her the day she doesn’t even feel allowed to ask for. The one where she remembers who she was—and gets to carry a piece of that woman back with her.