When people ask me this, I always say, I’m just a mom.
The response I get is almost always kind. I hear how being a mom is the hardest and most important job of all. I hear that I should never say just a mom because it so much more than that. Yeah, yeah, I know and I don’t disagree but I don’t need validation.
I am well aware of how hard it is to raise kids that aren’t assholes. The day to day stuff is equally hard. I am the one that coordinates their schedules and makes sure they see the dentist and the doctor at the appropriate intervals. I am that one that provides clothing and shoes that fit and monitors their work habits to be sure that they are giving their homework the proper amount of effort. I am the one that plans healthy and delicious meals that make everyone happy (45% of the time) and I create a warm, cozy, loving home all while being present and available to listen and offer advice and maintain everyone’s mental wellbeing. And this is just a Tuesday.
However, being just a mom to two teenagers doesn’t get you the same respect as it does when you have a baby on your hip and a melting toddler at your feet.
Instead of, “Oh, you have your hands full!” you get, “Oh, you’re lucky you don’t have to work and take care of kids.” Or, “Must be nice to stay home all day.” And, my personal favorites, “What do you do all day?” and “What does a productive day look like to you?”
These are all very valid statements and questions. I am lucky and it is nice to be home. And I have days that are full and busy and I have days that are not. I do what I do so that my husband can do what he does. It is my job to be here for our kids and for this, I am #grateful. Without sarcasm.
But I wasn’t always, just a mom. I’ve lived both sides of lucky.
When my kids were babies, I worked full time with an hour commute each way. I dropped them off to a daycare that I didn’t really love and cried many mornings all the way to work because I felt terrible for leaving them. After a long work day, I sometimes cried all the way to pick them up because I didn’t have the energy to deal with them. I fed them Hamburger Helper because it was fast and easy and I got them Happy Meals every. single. Friday. Oh, and before that, they were bottle fed formula. Gasp!
At that point in my life, being a working mom was freaking hard. I was always exhausted and stressed and drained emotionally and physically. My paying job was stressful but handling accounts and cranky people was nothing compared to researching a cure for colic and attempting to tame a wild toddler.
And then there was the guilt. I pulled my babies from their beds, dressed them, and took them to daycare at 7:30am. I picked them up at 6pm. They went to bed at 7:30pm. I was spending so little time with them and that time was littered with exhaustion and a lack of patience. I have great respect for working moms who manage this with grace. I was not graceful. I was actually the opposite of graceful.
My kids are 13 and 16 now and I can still feel the pain in my gut when I think about those times. I have to remind myself that it was short lived so the damage was minimal. (To me, not my kids).
My son started daycare at 8 weeks old because at that time, we couldn’t afford to go without my paycheck. He stopped at age 5, a few months into kindergarten. My daughter started at 10 weeks and stopped at age 3. Once my husband finished his residency, I was able to be just a mom. My kids occasionally tease me that they are scarred from daycare because they know it bothers me but they are fine. Totally fine. It definitely hurt me more than them.
Now that they are teens, they are at a point where they require little from me. I am done being the room mom and planning classroom Halloween parties. There are no more late nights waiting out a tummy ache. No more tears from scraped knees or scary dreams.
Now I’m the one with tummy aches and scary dreams because my son has his drivers license. My daughter pretends she doesn’t need me but I know she still does, just like I know there are still tears. What she needs most now is reassurance and guidance and trips to the mall with her friends. She would rather I not show up at school or make myself too visible which is fine. My son only requires clean clothes and a hot meal. Conversations include more grunts than words but that’s fine too.
And maybe my kids don’t always seem to appreciate me but I can handle it because I’m proud of myself for being just a mom. I have raised two kids that I think are pretty special. One reserved yet opinionated and one bold and equally opinionated. They are both smart and independent and incredibly insightful. Neither fit in a perfect mold but I never wanted that kind of kid.
I just hope that when they’re grown they’ll remember all the things I did for them when I was just a mom. I hope they’ll know that my life revolved around them and that I always put them first. I hope they’ll know that I never regretted any part of it, except daycare and the Hamburger Helper. And I hope they’ll be proud that I’m venturing back out into the world to find out what else I can be.