Have you ever been out in the world and someone screams, “MOM!” and you automatically turn around and answer? Only to realize…that wasn’t your kid.
Sigh.
When did I become just Mom? Not my name. Not a person with hobbies, interests, dreams, or an identity outside of keeping three tiny humans alive.
Just…Mom.
And when did my life slowly stop feeling like my life and start revolving almost entirely around these beautiful little humans I created?
My mother-in-law warned me about this.
When I became a mom, she told me, “Once that baby comes out, your life isn’t really yours anymore. That baby is going to call the shots, and your life is going to revolve around them forever.”
Did I want to admit my mother-in-law was right? Absolutely not. How could I possibly let my mother-in-law be right?
Psssh. “Never going to happen,” I confidently declared.
She just smiled. “You’ll see. Things change when you become a mom.”
Yeah…She was right.
I hate that for me.
When the babies are tiny, of course your world revolves around them. Especially with your first.
You know…the first child you bring home and suddenly realize, Holy crap. They actually let me leave the hospital with this thing. What do I do now?
So you schedule your entire existence around the tiny human.
Friends: “Want to come visit?”
Me: “Sure! What time, well actually, that’s nap time?”
Friend:“Can you come over for dinner?”
Me:“Depends. Is the tiny human eating dinner at that time? Because apparently I have a reservation with a toddler.”
Have an appointment?
Sorry, just one second. The tiny human needs a bottle.
Sibling game night?
Sure! Just wait for my turn while I spend the next 20 minutes putting the tiny human to bed because apparently she cannot possibly sleep unless she has been rocked, fed, sung to, cuddled, repositioned, tucked in, untucked, retucked, and personally assured that I will remain within a three-foot radius at all times.
And then somehow…you get used to it. Your needs become the thing you put off. Your hobbies become the thing you’ll get back to “eventually.”
Your friends learn that making plans with you requires approximately 84 million calendar invitations and a detailed analysis of nap schedules, bedtime, snacks, school, and whether the children are currently in a phase where leaving the house without you constitutes a personal betrayal.
And somewhere in all of that…
I disappeared a little. I didn’t realize it at first. Until one day my best friend asked me to hike the stairs at Roche-Cri State Park with her while she trained for her firefighting classes.
I thought, Sure! A hike. I can do that.
Except…
I had barely made it to the first platform before I was gasping for air and wondering if this was how my story ended. I have never been particularly athletic. Let’s be honest, I was never going to be mistaken for an Olympic athlete, but I had also never been this out of shape.
I was at my highest weight, completely exhausted, and incredibly embarrassed. My friend was supposed to be training. Instead, I was slowing her down. And then, because apparently the universe wanted to humble me as much as possible, she took my tiny human along with her and the approximately 50 pounds of extra weight she was already carrying. And I still couldn’t keep up.
Mortifying doesn’t even begin to cover it. But that hike made me realize something much bigger than the fact that I desperately needed to work on my stamina. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. My entire life had become about being Mom.
Taking care of the baby. Making sure everyone was fed. Making sure everyone was sleeping. Making appointments. Keeping schedules. Showing up. Doing all the things. And somewhere along the way, I had stopped doing the things that made me feel like me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I went camping.
I couldn’t remember the last time I went hiking just because I wanted to.
I couldn’t remember the last time I picked up a book and actually read it.
Honestly…I couldn’t remember the last time I had done anything just for myself. And that realization hurt. Because I love my kids. More than I could ever put into words. Being their mom is one of the greatest parts of my life, but being a mom isn’t supposed to mean that you stop being a person.
I had spent so much time making sure my kids had everything they needed that I had forgotten that I needed things too.
I needed adventure.
I needed friendships and quiet and hobbies and time outside.
I needed to laugh about something that had absolutely nothing to do with someone’s bodily functions, missing shoes, or tiny human logic. I needed to remember who I was before I became “Mom.”
So I decided to start with baby steps… pun absolutely intended.
I didn’t overhaul my life. I didn’t suddenly become one of those people who wakes up at 5 a.m. excited to work out. Let’s not get carried away.
I started small.
I joined the YMCA and dropped my tiny human off at daycare for an hour while I attempted to get back in shape.
And let me tell you… mom guilt is real.
That first time I walked away, she saw me leaving and immediately turned on the waterworks.
MOM! DON’T LEAVE ME!
Cue my heart shattering into approximately a million pieces. I almost turned around, but then I discovered something. That child was a tiny con artist.
The second I was out of sight?
Silence. The tears stopped, she found a toy, and apparently, life was just fine.
Meanwhile, I was probably somewhere on a treadmill questioning every life choice that had brought me there.
But you know what?
That little one-hour daycare drop-off wasn’t just a small step for me. It was a step for her, too. She was learning that Mom could leave… and come back. She was learning to play, explore, and be okay without me hovering nearby. And I was learning something just as important:
I was allowed to take care of myself, too.
Slowly, those little steps started adding up. I lost some weight. I started feeling stronger. And somewhere along the way, I started finding pieces of me again.
Not just Mom. Not just wife. Me.
And then…
BOOM!
Pregnant with Tiny Human #2. And just like that, the cycle started all over again. Because apparently, the universe looked at my baby steps and said, “Cute. Let’s start over.”
But I learned a little more in round two.
With tiny human #2, I started taking those baby steps a little sooner. I had learned from the first time around that taking care of everyone didn’t mean I had to completely disappear.
Tiny human #1 learned some things too.
She learned that Mom could leave the room and the world would not immediately end.
I learned that the tiny humans could survive without me hovering over them every second.
And slowly, we all started figuring it out.
I was learning to make room for myself again.
I was learning that it was okay to have plans that didn’t revolve entirely around nap schedules, bedtime, snacks, and whether someone had recently had a meltdown because their banana was “broken.”
I was getting better.
I was finding pieces of myself again.
And then the universe apparently looked down at me and said:
“Oh, you think you’ve got this figured out?”
Evil laughter.
“Let’s add some more.”
BANG!
Pregnant.Round three. Tiny human #3 had officially entered the chat.
And let me tell you…That pregnancy was the hardest and scariest one of the bunch, but that’s a story for another time.Because now here I am.
Three tiny humans later.Still learning.Still adjusting.Still trying to figure out how to balance being Mom and being Me.
And honestly? I’m not sure anyone ever completely figures it out. Some days I nail it. Other days I realize I’ve spent the entire day answering to “Mom” and can’t remember if I’ve even finished my coffee. Some days I get out and hike. Some days I read. Some days I make time for friends.
And some days my biggest accomplishment is getting everyone where they need to be without losing a child, a shoe, or my ever-loving mind.
But I’m learning that balance doesn’t have to mean everything is perfectly divided. Maybe balance is simply remembering that I belong in my own life too.
I’m still Mom and I always will be. But I’m also still me. I’m finally learning that I don’t have to choose between the two.
And maybe that’s the part nobody really tells you. Motherhood changes you. Of course it does.
You become stronger in ways you never imagined. You learn patience you didn’t know you had. You discover a level of love that is almost impossible to explain.
But you don’t have to disappear completely. Your children don’t need a mother who has sacrificed every single piece of herself. They need a mother who shows them that loving your family and loving yourself can exist at the same time. So, Mom…If you’re reading this while sitting in the car waiting for soccer practice to end, reheating the same cup of coffee for the fourth time, or hiding in the bathroom for five minutes of peace…
I see you. And maybe it’s time we start finding our way back to ourselves. Not because we love our kids any less. But because we are more than just Mom.
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