Truth be told, before I was a mom, I never imagined being a mom. My mom wasn’t the most ‘maternal’ person in the world and I think I picked up her ways. I think we got in the way of her life. I never felt hurt by it, really, quite the opposite, I learned that I had no intention of kids cramping my style.

I hear people say, “I always wanted to be a mom“- well, as taboo as this might be, I didn’t. I never played with dolls. I never played “house”. I rocked out to my record player, tormented my little sister, and dreamt about boys. I was selfish and irresponsible and liked my freedom.

That’s not to say that when it happened, I wasn’t over the moon (after the initial what the hell have I gotten myself into reaction).

I am a perfectionist and like to do the things I do, well. I took on mothering as a new challenge. A learning experience. I read all the books. Took the classes. Soaked in all the knowledge I could.

I was a starry eyed mom at some point- I swear I was. Though I hated every catty mom there, I attended the playgroups. I threw over-the-top themed birthday parties and stressed at every detail. I had their portraits taken every 6 months. I kept all of the baby books up-to-date down to the dates of immunizations and monumental “firsts”. I was a good mom, but lately, I’ve realized that wasn’t me. I was trying to fit into some expectation mommy mold.

The oogling, baby talk, nursing, wonder of new skills, chubby cheeks and baby fat stages are mostly behind me. With the realization that there will be no more newborn smells and toddling through my halls, I have been catapulted to my next stage of life.

In the last couple years, I began to notice the need for my presence as “mommy” becoming less and less. My demand has begun to dissipate and, as sad as that is, I had no choice, but to wonder where I went. I had been defined by my kids for so long, that without them at the helm of my life, I was lost. My vibrancy. My love for life. My interests. They were all gone. I had been absorbed into the mommy world and my kids had become my identity.

I have been morphing into what I may have imagined myself as a mom – it’s not always pretty. Flawed, but fun. Unapologetically real. Occasionally inconvenienced and thoroughly unconventional. Definitely not the textbook mom that I had tried to keep as a standard, but more true to myself. I still keep them safe, teach them right from wrong, and give them the love and guidance that they need, but now, it’s on my terms.