THE MOM WHO LOST HER NAME

When I was born, I was given the name: Ondrea Elana Steinbook. It was misspelled, misread and mispronounced, even butchered at times but, it was mine. I introduced myself as Ondrea and others referred to me the same.

Twenty nine years later my name changed. When I got married, I dropped my middle name, kept my maiden name and gained a new last name: Davis. Either way, my name was still Ondrea. Isn’t it still you ask? Well, not really. I decided to have kids and now I’m called Mom. Or Mommy or Mama.

It’s so sweet when we hear “Mommy” or “Daddy” for the first time, isn’t it? When they start making sounds, there is the anticipation of “will his/her first word be Mama or Dada?” and will I be there to hear it? We oooh and aaah over their tender, innocent sounds. Smile at every soft sweet noise and sneeze.

My how things have changed! Now I hear “MAAAAAA!!!! MAAAAAMMMMM from the other side of the house. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. And it can’t be once or even twice, it has to be at least a half dozen times, even after I answer. Sometimes, they’ll even walk towards me, looking at me, while screaming some variation of “Mom” until they’re so close they can touch me. I suppose I should be grateful that their legs aren’t broken as I so often wonder when they can’t seem to move from wherever they are to come to me but, it’s infuriating nonetheless.

So, now I have two little assholes screaming through the house, yelling what once was a sweet version of "Mommy” until I’m asked to do something for them. Now that isn’t the only reason they scream my “name”. Sometimes, it’s to get permission to do something or to snitch on each other or to fill the silence with constant chatter because God forbid we have any peaceful moments. Ahhh, the beauty of parenthood.

It doesn’t really stop there though does it? My husband refers to me as “Mom” now, too. Not typically when it’s just him and me (although that has happened), but when the kids are around. You know, “Go ask mom”, “Mom, can you <all the things> for <kid’s name>” or even “Hi mom”. “We” are attempting to correct this, but it’s definitely a work in progress. So, now I have three assholes who refer to me as Mom. I should mention, if you are offended that I refer to my kids (and husband) as assholes, you should stop reading all my shit now because some days I call some or all of them “fuckers” or “little fuckers”- whichever is appropriate at the time. I’m allowed to say this because I birthed the littles and I am attempting to raise all of them. Also, it’s all out of love.

Anyway, so now I don’t have my name at home. Then I go to their school or activities or wherever else and I have become “Tyler’s mom” or “Nolan’s mom”. I can’t begin to tell you how many kids’ names I know, yet, even though i have spoken to their parents or seen them a number of times, I still have no fucking clue what their names are and I’m sure they don’t know mine. After weeks and months, enough time passes to where it’s almost awkward to introduce yourself. After all, I probably already know what their kid likes to eat or where they struggle or what activities he/she participates in. I hope to overhear someone else say their name but why would they? They know that same parent as "Jimmy’s mom”, too.

I realized all of this recently. Realized that I am now “Mom” and I’ve started to settle into that identity. Please understand that this is not because I don’t want to be a mom. I love being a mom. I don’t necessarily love everything that goes along with it, but I wouldn’t change my decision to have kids. Within the last month, something came up in conversation with a couple friends at different times. One is a new mom and the other has toddler aged kids. Anyway, the conversations were about struggling as a mom and feeling overwhelmed. We’ve all be there, will be or just learn to live in that constant state of feeling inadequate and overwhelmed. We hope eventually we’ll overcome even when we can’t see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. While we are in the thick of it though, I think it’s important to know that some moments are not easy to treasure or appreciate and there are some days you’ll want to run away or drop those little fuckers off at the fire station. There are days we all mourn our pre-kid life. Right? Well, I have those days. Sometimes I miss my time and doing what I want, on my terms and according to my schedule. I mourn making spontaneous decisions with my expendable income while eating ethnic, spicy foods and drinking out of stemmed glassware. I miss and I mourn and it’s more intense when I feel I’ve lost all the “luxuries” while struggling to hold on to my identity. You know, the one I developed over the years before I became “Mom”.

One afternoon, when my husband was away for work, I sat in traffic on the way to pick my kids up from school, to get them home, to feed them, to bathe them, to put them to bed and I thought “Is this it? Is this my life? I wondered when I started to lose myself. Was it when I started hearing “Ondrea” less and less or when I started hearing “MAAAAAMMMM” more and more? More importantly, how do I get ME back. Where did I go and where do I want to be?

I want to be a mom, but I’d rather be Ondrea, who is also a mom. So, how do I do this? Well, I guess I’m trying to figure it out. I’m trying to remember what I loved doing before I had kids. Unfortunately, obscene day drinking with friends to then go shopping at full priced retailers is now something I really can’t do. Well, correction: It’s something I can’t do often. Either way, I need to find Ondrea again. I need to remember what I liked to do when I had downtime. What I enjoyed doing when I was alone. Where I liked to go or eat or see or listen to. I love my kids but if I don’t figure this out now, it’s going to be a shitty reality when my kids have their own lives and all I know how to do is take care of and do for them.

I may be the one talking about this, but I’d imagine we all feel it or have felt or will in the future. So, to start this process, I may introduce myself so I know your name and you know mine. This doesn’t mean that we have to exchange numbers or plan play dates. It means that while I’m trying to find my identity again, as Ondrea, I am also inviting you to experience your own identity, beyond your role as mom or dad. Maybe it helps us both remember that we are more than parents. On the other hand, if it becomes a day of obscene day drinking and retail therapy… well, I’m good with that too. I’ll call a Lyft and my oldest asshole can pick the little assholes up from school.