The Me and The Mom

Song lyrics make it sound so easy. Lucy Van Pelt can't love anybody but her. Whitney Houston said that learning to love oneself is the greatest love of all. I have wondered, more than once, what the secret is. I have certainly tried different tactics. I've focused on the positives. I've tried to let go of the imperfections. I've sung those songs until my voice went out. But, for some reason, being okay with being me? Well, it hasn't been easy.

When we were given the assignment to write this week on the "me behind the mom", I considered blowing it off. I could claim hundreds of excuses why I needed to skip and have someone else blog for me; the house is a mess, baby hasn't slept, haven't showered in three days, I've really been neglecting my Pinterest boards, there's a dead worm on the sidewalk that I should burry. Then I considered just keeping it "light", making a joke about my "behind" and how it's a good six inches lower than it used to be (thanks baby number four). But then I remembered some stupid analogy I heard once about how you can't strengthen muscles you never work, blah, blah, blah. Okay, it wasn't stupid, but when it makes me want to break out of my comfort zone it's not getting any immediate love from me.

Ever since I was little, I've been an awkward little thing. Picture that kid at school with glasses who reads books about unicorns and wears high water pants and talks in a squeaky voice. Got the image? Okay, good. Because that would be the cool kid that I wished I was. I was so weird, I couldn't even be a normal dork. I didn't just read about unicorns, I waged a campaign to convince my classmates that they were real and I had seen them (I still think that watching Tom Cruise's "Legend" counts as a sighting.) and, oh by the way, they can communicate with me. By the time I hit fourth grade things were bad enough that my parents put me into a private school. Yes, it was that bad.

When I first went to my new school I thought maybe I could be cooler. Maybe I could just not mention the unicorns, at least until my circle of friends was well established. I could do this. I could be cool. That idea lasted about eighty-five seconds, or until recess.

I repeated these efforts the first week of every single school year for the remainder of my primary education career. It yielded the same results every single time.

My next would-be attempts at self-transformation came when I went to college. After being with the same small group of people since the fifth grade, I'd finally be moving to a place where no one knew me. I could retrain myself. I could be a whole new me. Here's the thing about me...me is always there. I can't hide from her. She just shows up, invited or not. She's a little obnoxious like that.

After I got married, my husband and I, along with child number 1, moved to Richmond, VA. I tried again to be a newer, cooler, less dweeby sort of person. And I'll be darned if me didn't show up and spoil it all AGAIN. Seriously, me cannot take a hint.

After almost ten years in Richmond, we moved to Florida. This was exactly the opportunity that I needed to finally be the cool girl. I mean, no one knew me...NO ONE. And I finally figured out the secret. I just would not talk at all. Smile and speak when spoken to. No stories. No jokes. BAM, overnight success. But, once again, that inner dork just bubbled right to the surface. My personality is inevitable, like death and taxes. There really is no way to escape it.

So if you can't run from yourself. If you can't be someone that you aren't (No, this doesn't mean I'm giving up on being a mermaid, it's totally attainable. You'll see.), then what do you do? And this is why I didn't want to write this post. Because I haven't come to a conclusion yet. I don't have an answer. Being a writer, I like to have answers. I like to know what's going to happen before I write a story. But I'm probably only in the first chapter with this whole self-acceptance thing, which makes writing about it downright terrifying.

But hey, I took six kids to Sam's Club the other day. I can do hard things.

So here's where motherhood comes in. I've never really been cool or brave or strong or awesome...until I was a mother. And now I'm still none of those things, but all of those things. "Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up" (sorry, I couldn't resist). Before I was a mother, I was way too chicken to ride a roller coaster. Now, after children, there is no way that I would get on a roller coaster, but it's okay now. I'm the mom. Moms can skip roller coasters and still be brave because HELLO!?! I TOOK SIX KIDS TO SAM'S CLUB! Do you see what motherhood did there? It let me be me and it let me be brave, even though I'm not brave. You think I'm crazy right? Watch, I'll do it again...

Before I was a mother I would tell really lame jokes and everyone would think I was lame. It works like that. Now, I still tell lame jokes, but my kids think they are hilarious. Seriously. They laugh. So I get to be funny even though I'm not funny. See how awesome that is?

So the thing is, the "me behind the mom" is still there. Being a mother just lets me be her and be okay with being her. I think that believing in unicorns, wearing pants that would make Steve Urkel proud, and singing Bonnie Raitt while all my classmates were singing Boyz 2 Men (That's probably wrong. I don't even know what they were listening to because I was listening to Bonnie Raitt), all made me a pretty dweeby person, but they make me a pretty awesome mom.

That's what motherhood does for you. It transforms you. It let's you be you, but better. It helps you recognize that it's okay to be you. Being you isn't a bad thing, as long as you're always trying to be the best you that you can be.

So the me behind the mom is a dork who loves to read fantasy novels and pick the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms cereal and make up random songs for absolutely everything. The me behind the mom is a world class chicken who has to take deep breaths when driving over large bodies of water because 'holy crap we might drive over the edge and get eaten by alligators'. She would gladly eat cookies for breakfast. She likes to listen to Raffi at Christmas time. And the mom behind the me? Well, she let's me get away with all of it and blame it on being a mom. It's a symbiotic relationship and it works. I can dig it.