You know those moments when your logical mind understands that something isn’t a big deal, but your inner warrior just won’t let it go? Well, my inner warrior can be quite persistent.
I am fully aware that I am loved—by my partner and our kids. I recognize my value in our family dynamic. My contributions are essential; I play a significant role in our household’s daily operations. I help prepare lunches, get the kids ready for bed, trim nails, assist with brushing teeth (except after ice cream, of course), do laundry, manage school and camp drop-offs, help with homework, impart life lessons, create memories, and foster unique connections with each of our children. These actions, above and beyond my love, define my role as a mother.
Our kids often refer to having three moms, inquire if they can call me “Mom,” or ask for “the other Mommy” when I’m not immediately available. They even tell their friends, “I can’t do that; my mom said no,” when they know they’re asking for something off-limits.
But when my motherly title is just “Sarah,” it’s as if no one else recognizes that bond.
While I can sit back and appreciate that what I have is far more meaningful than how others perceive it, my inner warrior continues to protest.
She raises her hands in frustration when someone hears, “Sarah, can we play for five more minutes?” and assumes I’m the babysitter or the nanny. (Let’s be honest; having to identify as the nanny in the beginning made that sting a bit more.)
My warrior blushes when I sign a permission slip or call the school, and my name doesn’t match my partner’s or our children’s; they need to verify my authorization.
She shakes her head when people question why I want to attend parent-teacher conferences or medical appointments.
And yes, my inner warrior feels a surge of indignation when someone gifts our child a shirt that reads “Mommy Loves You.”
Guess what? Sarah loves you too! But no one is making shirts that express that.
Rationally, I know it’s ridiculous to argue with my beloved over a shirt that says “Mommy’s Little Angel.” It’s not that I want to deny my partner—who is the biological mother of our kids—the chance to dress them in silly outfits with goofy slogans. It’s simply that I don’t have that opportunity.
Sure, my rational side understands I have countless other wonderful experiences as “Sarah,” and I am truly grateful for them. So, I promise these warrior moments are rare, and thankfully, they pass quickly. But I would be dishonest if I claimed they don’t occur.
So, my dear children, if you ever decide to add “Sarah Loves You” in puffy paint on your graduation cap, I won’t mind. My inner warrior will cheer louder than ever before, embarrassing you as I always have—just as you would expect from your mom.
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
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In summary, even if titles shift and perceptions differ, the love and commitment I show as a mother remain steadfast and deeply valued.