A friend of mine, one of those friends who has cats not kids, recently said to me: “You know what? You’ve become a martyr mom.”

She wasn’t being mean at all. She and I had recently gotten back in touch, and she was merely reflecting on who I used to be, before the never-ending obsessions about school, activities, enrichment and all that other kid-stuff took over. And she was right.

That’s the cruel irony with me — even as I defend my kid’s right to be just ordinary, not some high-achieving wunderkind, I fall so easily into the perfect-mommy-trap myself.

I don’t demand perfection yet I want my kid’s life to be perfect, giving him access to every possible opportunity out there. I dont’ pressure him to max out his potential, yet I beat myself up at the notion that I may be shortchanging that potential.

So I’ve decided to refocus some of my attention on myself, allowing myself to become more of an ordinary mom, perhaps even a slacker mom. Like the mom I met not so long ago at a school open house who couldn’t tell me much about her daughter’s classroom beyond this: “I drop her off in the morning, pick her up in the afternoon, and she seems happy. That’s good enough for me.”