On feeling like a "real mom"

An Emily Oster disapproved study

A few weeks ago Jimmy made plans to play Sunday morning basketball with his friend. At the last minute it turned out this friend, also a dad, would have his daughter that morning, and Jimmy remarked blithely that it was no problem for him to just “bring her along,” as in, to the basketball court. Our friend’s daughter is just about a year older than Rosalind, which is to say, not old enough to sit in the car reading a book nor old enough to “get shots up,” as the fellas put it.

“Tell him she can stay here,” I said, triumphantly. It was finally happening. It was, I realized, suddenly no big deal to have another kid in the house. It would be normal and fun and—if it wasn’t—one of my personal mottos is “I can do anything for 45 minutes.”

Our little buddy showed up with her Ziploc bag of Goldfish and sat down at Rosalind’s play table to eat them. Rosalind sat down across from her, mesmerized. After assuring myself that no one was going to burst into tears, I went to the kitchen to cut up some watermelon slices for everyone. I placed the plate in front of them. They cooed with pleasure. After eating, both girls wanted to play with the cash register. I tried to referee mildly from the couch, but Rosalind got upset. Both girls looked at me. Me. I was in charge. And there it was, folks: I was suddenly a real mom.

Do you know the feeling? That wave of powerful emotion, of rightness, of clarity? It’s happened a few times in my short career as a mother and when it does it’s so rewarding. So much of parenthood is blind faith, random guesses, Google searches, grasping at what might—or might not—be an instinct.

Leave the house to go to work and I sometimes forget I have a kid entirely. Returning home again, I kick off my boots onto the kitchen floor, stretch out my sweaty black-tights-feet for a moment before I lean in to scoop her up as she careens towards me, screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” That’s another moment where I feel it sometimes: at the threshold between worlds. I’m a real mom.

I wanted to write about it, and I wanted to know what other people thought too. I’m no Emily Oster—my poll is beyond unscientific, only having immediate text access to a handful of other mothers of small children and Jimmy. After working on this I realized I should have asked my own mother; I should have asked my dad. Maybe this essay will make you ask your own parents, too. Maybe it will make you think about yourself. What was it that creates this feeling? Where does it come from?

Here are some of the responses I got:

“I’ve always felt major mom vibes because I was so active with the nieces and nephews. But REAL mom. Hmm… Probably in the middle of one of those early nights, sitting, rocking in this perfect little room I decorated, while I fed my tiny baby I grew from my body. Or when he’s upset and reaches for me and he just melts into me and feels safe. Probably other moments… but because I’m a real mom my brain is mushy.”

“I think I find I am often still surprised that I have kids! I guess I don’t always have it in my list of identities. I think I have a lot of issues with the ‘mom’ identity and often call myself a ‘parent,’ like on forms for them. I think sometimes I notice it when people ask me about something related to being a parent…I think also when a sick kiddo is snuggling or sleeping on me or when [my child] says I make him happy.”

“Oh I still don’t lol. I still feel like I’m play acting.”

“Easy: when I had a second child. Which is so fraught.” 

“Last night I was peeing at like 11pm getting ready to go into the girls’ room because they were waking up sobbing ‘I want mama’ and I had this thought that I can’t believe I am that person. Like I think part of me is still attached to a different identity like wayward art student barista musician who likes kids but mostly just babysits them or hangs out with them as a substitute teacher … like that is sometime who I still feel like I am, and I truly cannot fathom that I have three kids. But then when I’m hauling all three of them to the playground and busting my ass trying to open the double stroller quickly I do feel like a real mom. Like when I’m struggling but doing it LOL.”

Photo of the author circa 2007. Yes, that is a sangria soaked orange in my mouth. I spent too long searching my phone for images I could caption “are you telling me THIS woman has kids?”

“Not exactly feeling ‘real mom,’ but feeling most like one: 1. When I’m completely at a loss. They’re both crying for different reasons and I have to almost laugh at the situation, or 2. When completing a ‘feat of strength’ (a la Seinfeld I say ‘feat of strength!’ as I lift them and carry them simultaneously from ground level up 3 sets of stairs). This week I told [my husband] ‘I thought I was at my wit’s end, but it turned out it wasn’t the end!”

“My mom moment is whenever I discipline him in a way that doesn’t strictly adhere to gentle parenting. Like the other day I said, ‘If you don’t stop climbing on the table, you are going to bed right now.’ Before I said it I looked at [my husband] and said, ‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this.’ lol.”

“When I do something I remember my mom doing, like making dinner while the girls sit at the counter eating or doing homework, or rubbing them dry after a bath, which my mom called a ‘Turkish rubdown.’ I feel so fulfilled then, like all is right in the world.”

Photo of the author circa 1986. Are you telling me this baby has a baby now??

“Assisting class picture day at the school this year was a real moment for sure. I felt so proud of everyone and watching them in the auditorium felt like handing the torch of childhood or something. Also simply nursing.”

“I think having a kiddo in elementary school definitely is a real mom moment. Also when [my nephew] stayed over the first time—I felt like a real mom!! With other kids in my care.”

“Printing recipes out. That made me feel old as hell. Dads are old as hell. When she hands me chewed up food and I don’t care. Putting booger tissues in my pocket.”

A real mom moment captured by Kate Lovering last April

I’ve been thinking all week about what the commonalities between these moments are. Some seem focused on ritual, or rite of passage: nursing, picture day, recreating a childhood experience you once had yourself. Some seem hinged on emotion, like reaching your limit or losing your temper. These represent a kind of threshold; one perhaps you’d never thought you’d reach.

I think back to when that first picture was taken—me with the orange slice in my mouth, tipsy and sticky at what I think was a free Passion Pit concert in Prospect Park. I was still young enough that everything was hard. Life was something to be figured out constantly, assessed, obsessed over, and my role in all of it was pretty unclear. But then there were those moments—almost always in the backseat of a taxi, speeding over the Manhattan Bridge, craning my neck to look back at the glittering city lights behind me. It clicked; I belonged. It took a vista to show me where I was; the experience needed context, it needed framing.

There are so few stunning vistas in motherhood, but there is community, and there is surrender. Watching our little buddy eat her Goldfish the other day wasn’t just about a weird seizing of power, it was about her eyes on me, seeing me as the parent. It was about knowing that for the next 45 minutes, I’d better not get lost in my phone, since I was in charge of two kids now. It was about seeing myself anew.

What is your “real mom” or “real parent” moment? What was a moment you truly saw yourself where you really are in the world? Leave a comment below—or—if you have the Substack app, you can join the chat, a new feature I am going to try out!

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