My husband walked side by side with the Honda salesman while my pregnant self did my best to keep up. I was a few feet behind them, with the words, “We have two boys already,” on the tip of my tongue when I saw a little wave of my husband’s hand that I knew meant he’d rather keep personal details to ourselves. When shopping for a minivan, if they know you’re soon to be a family of five, you’re giving away all your playing cards. To the salesman, we would have gone in two seconds from casual viewers to desperate, overcrowded parents who drive a teeny tiny Corolla.
We looked at several vans that day, with three different salesmen. Each time, it took everything I had not to burst out with—
“Yes! I know how messy kids are and how much nicer it would be to wipe down leather!”
“Yes! I know it would be nice not to worry about my kid opening a door and slamming it into another car!” (Bless those sliding doors.)
“Yes! I know how great it would be to comfortably fit three carseats in one row. Why do you think I want a van??
I’m a mom! I know!
I remember the first time I went to Target alone, after having my first baby. It was inconceivable that the people walking around me, leisurely browsing greeting cards and bath towels, didn’t know that I was now a mother. A helpless, beautiful, tiny life depended on me! I was a completely different woman than the last time I had walked into Target—before giving birth.
Four and a half years later, I may not be bursting with the news that I’m a mom, but I cannot fathom my life any other way. Motherhood is so much a part of me that I couldn’t help slipping to one of the car salesmen that we actually already have two children. (Shhh! Don’t tell my husband!) I seriously could not restrain myself.
Being a mother is who I am. It’s who I’m becoming.
And even when I’m plastered in spit up or just plain beat at the end of a day, there is still no one else I’d rather be.